


Diamonds In Your Eyes

by HarperRose (Harper_Rose)



Category: American Revolution RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: 1776 undertones cus the authors a fuckin nerd, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bipolar Disorder, Depression, F/F, Gen, Lams - Freeform, M/M, Social Anxiety, The author struggles to write an in-character Thomas Jefferson, and have already adopted Laf, random people from history make random appearances, the Washington's adopt Ham
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-14
Updated: 2017-03-15
Packaged: 2018-09-08 15:56:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8851066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harper_Rose/pseuds/HarperRose
Summary: Alexander Hamilton, tired of moving from foster home to foster home, winds up at the Washington's. Weary and distrustful, Alexander knows he's in for a rough time. Surprisingly, however, is that he might actually like this family... // legit another foster kid Alex modern!AU.//PERMINANTLY UNFINISHED(I will literally never revisit this, y’all)





	1. A House, A Home

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Something They Can Never Take Away](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6642676) by [a_mind_at_work](https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_mind_at_work/pseuds/a_mind_at_work). 



> This was a long time coming, and after reading a_mind_at_work's "Something They Can Never Take Away," I said fuck it! So I'm trying my hand at the modern! Ham AU. So here 'goes!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story title from "Dazzle" by Oh Wonder  
> Chapter title from "A House A Home" by Alialujah Choir

 

  
_You got diamonds in your eyes tonight_  
_Throwing fire, trying to make it right_  
_You’re getting higher than the ceiling lights_  
_And falling hard enough to lose the fight_  

(Dazzle; Oh Wonder)

 

***

The city in November was Alexander’s favorite. Since coming to America, he found the colder seasons appealed to him. It was so different from the Islands, the trees changing colors, it snowed -- Alexander had never seen snow. It was so vastly polar to the Caribbean, it was one of the few things that didn’t hurt.

He only wished his mother could have seen America. She would have loved the city.

Since coming to America, Alexander had been placed in three foster homes. Never lasting more than a few months with a single family. For the most part they had been decent people, none of them just knew how to handle him. They didn’t know what to do with a child like himself. They came up empty handed once they realized what a handful he was.

He had nightmares and hardly slept. He forgot to eat. Miss Tyler said he was depressed. He got in fights at school. He kept good grades, they knew he was smart, but no one knew what to do with that. Either too loud or too quiet. When he was loud, he was abrasive. When he was quiet, he was inattentive and absent.

His social worker, a woman named Jemma Tyler -- Alex called her Miss Tyler -- was currently driving him to his _new home._ He sat in the passenger seat, fiddling with the zip of his backpack and trying not to fidget out of his skin.

Miss Tyler was a nice woman, currently going on and on about the new family he was to stay with. She knew the wife -- an acquaintance from college apparently, Alexander was only half listening. More interested in the passing scenery than whatever story the woman who was about to abandon him again had to say.

The anxiety of moving in with a new family never seemed to get any better. Yet this time around he felt more numb than any real strong emotion. He felt the cold numb feeling seeping in -- blurring the edges.

“You’ll like this new family,” Miss Tyler said, fingers drumming along the steering wheel as they drove through the light snowfall. “The Washington's are very kind people,” she assured him. “They’re all very excited to meet you.”

Alexander tugged on his coat sleeve, staring out the window at the scenery and the houses they passed. They gradually got larger and nicer. Manicured lawns obvious even through the snow, and wrought iron fences with Christmas lights wrapped around.

“Who the hell are these people?” Alexander suddenly asked, frowning.

Miss Tyler took a deep breath. “They’re very wealthy, if that’s what you’re asking,” she said bluntly. “National government jobs. Look, Alexander, I know you’re nervous. Or frightened, probably a little upset. I get it. But please, _please,_ give this family a chance,” she pleaded. “Don’t close them out, they want to help you.”

“Why would they want to help me? They don’t _know_ me,” Alex asked, perplexed and bitter. Wanting to help required caring. How could they care about some kid they had never met? Alexander had never had anyone _care_ about him other than his mother and she was gone now. He supposed Miss Tyler cared about him, she was doing her job but sometimes she got upset with him and lectured him and pat him on the shoulder kind of like a parent would, more like an aunt. She took him shoe shopping once and tried to make him laugh sometimes.

Alex liked Miss Tyler -- Jemma. But she wasn’t his mom and her job was to literally pawn him off. Something he often reminded himself of.

“Is it so strange that someone would care about you, Alex?”

Alexander remained silent as they turned down an isolated driveway that led them along the bank of the river for about half a mile before they came to a clearing. They approached a large white house with a bright red door. The white fence surrounding the property had its gate wide open, a little plaque that said ‘the Washington’s’ in a decorative script hanging off it. As they pulled into the drive, Alex could see the American flag waving by the front door.

Miss Tyler parked the car, switching off the ignition. She turned towards Alexander, fiddling with the keys in her manicured hands. “Just take a deep breath, okay?”

Alex nodded, tugging on the sleeve of his coat.

She placed a hand on Alexander’s shoulder and squeezed lightly. “This is a fresh start. The Washington’s are incredible people.”

Alex let out a breath, “okay.”

Jemma smiled and bowed her head before, together, the two of them exited the SUV.

“Mr. Washington,” she greeted cheerfully.

Alexander saw a tall, dark skinned man approaching them, smiling widely. “Jemma, so good to see you,” he greeted, shaking Miss Tyler’s proffered hand. “And Alexander.”

Alex stiffened as Mr. Washington's eyes settled on him. His nerves igniting with frantic energy. He tugged on his backpack strap, standing as tall as he could, and nodded. His words escaping him.

“It’s very good to meet you, son. Martha and I are very excited to have you living with us,” he said.

Alexander took a deep breath.

“Where is Martha?” Miss Tyler asked and Alexander felt a sudden swell of gratitude. He couldn't talk, it was like there was something wedged in his throat, what was wrong with him?

Mr. Washington smiled. “She’s on her way home from work now. I spoke with her a few minutes ago. She’ll be here in about twenty minutes.” He looked back at Alexander, his eyes softening. “Why don’t you guys come in, out of this weather, and get Alexander situated.”

“Of course,” Miss Tyler nodded and popped the trunk, grabbing Alexander’s duffle bag.

Washington made an expression that Alex couldn’t make heads or tails of at the sight of Alex’s minimal belongings.

Mr. Washington lead them into the house, taking them in through the side door rather than the front. Alex, continuing his uncharacteristic silent streak, kept his head down, stepping over the cheery welcome mat. The simplistic wealth the exterior of the house promised failed to carry over to the interior. The house looked, well, like a home.

Still wealthy, and expensive. It was cozy, like a sofa broken in from extensive use, the house had a welcoming atmosphere. Alex felt his shoulders untense a fraction of a hair.

“Your room’s just upstairs, Alexander. I can show you now if you’d like,” Washington announced.

Alexander nodded, “okay.”

“Here you go,” Miss Tyler said, handing him his duffle. “Take your time, I’ll wait here.”

Alex didn’t necessarily _want_ to follow Mr Washington upstairs alone. He didn’t want to be alone with the man. He didn’t know him. He was numb, anxiety but a small bubble in the pit of his stomach. He wasn’t scared, he was just… apprehensive.

“It’s just down the hall,” Washington said. At the top of the stairs there was a small landing that acted as a lounge, a couch and beanbag chair facing a blank wall where Alexander would have thought a television would usually be. But how should he know? This was already the nicest house Alexander had been through. There were a few families on the islands that were wealthy, living in quiet mansions overlooking cliff sides and not a care in the world for the poverty that surrounded them. Old plantation homes erected in the eighteenth century. Most larger than this house, but Alexander had never stepped past the first floor of those homes on the rare occasions he visited his mother while she was working.

Washington lead him around a corner and down a short hallway, passing a few closed doors and one that stood wide open. It was a charmingly decorated room with pastel blue walls, a semitransparent mesh canopy hanging loosely over the bed. The elegance disrupted only by an array of cheap posters tacked to the walls here and there. It was clearly the room of a teenager.

“Who’s room is that?” Alexander couldn’t stop himself from asking, his mouth getting the better of him. He was taking in everything they passed, naturally curious.

Washington paused, a broad smile overtaking his expression. “That’s Gilbert’s room,” he said. The foreign name rolling off his tongue flawlessly. “Our son, he’s about your age. You’ll meet him tonight when he gets home from school. He’s very excited to meet you.”

Alexander pursed his lips but kept quiet and silently continued behind Mr. Washington. They stopped at a room across the hall from Gilbert’s. It was mostly bare. A queen sized bed and a dresser made of darker wood that Alex thought looked nice with the blue of the walls. It almost reminded him of the ocean back home. Alexander swallowed, fingers reaching out to touch the light trim. “This is mine?”

“We can go out and get you some things tomorrow,” he offered, looking worriedly between Alexander and the room. “You can decorate however you like, of course.”

He didn’t trust this man, but he seemed genuine to Alex. It was something new to Alexander, he'd deny Jemma when she said he had a distrust of males, but he knew she was right. Of course he had to pass the tests once Washington’s wife and Gilbert got home. It was always a test. If you couldn’t blend with the family you were gone. Every kid in Alexander’s position knew that. The anxiety on Alex’s stomach uncurled just a little bit more. His distrust of any good situation was sometimes inconvenient, but he had learnt to trust it.

“I’ll let you get comfortable,” Washington said. Rapping his knuckles lightly on the doorframe as he somewhat awkwardly excused himself.

The duffle bag made a muffled thump against the plush carpet as Alexander let it fall from his fingers. “This is home now,” he spoke to an empty room. Removing the backpack, he sat down on the large mattress, smiling when the mattress bounced beneath him. “For now.”

He'd never had his own room. Even on the island he had shared a room with his brother. Looking around himself he didn’t see a lot to do in the way of settling in. He didn’t have a lot to settle. His possessions consisted of a few articles of clothing, some notebooks, and a John Steinbeck novel.

He lay down across the bed, letting the soft blue fur of the throw blanket slide between his fingers. “You’d hate this place mom,” he said softly. “Too big. Too nice.” His mother had never much cared for the rich or fancy things.

He decides he should at least unpack his duffle bag, and strides over to where he left it, sitting down on the carpet and unzipping it. The bag was in rough shape, worn and torn in places, but it held up and did it’s job.

He placed the few changes of clothes he had in the dresser, folding them neatly like his mother had taught him. He didn’t have a lot of clothes left, he’d forgotten some at the last home he’s stayed at in his rushed departure. The Bayton’s had all but thrown him out, calling Miss Tyler to pick him up from the front porch stoop.

The few things he owned that weren’t clothes he set atop the dresser. His notebooks sitting in a neat stack.

They were mostly filled with scribbles, personal journal entries, but a few held short stories and poems he’d written and other’s were filled with notes. Jumping from school to school, he’d taken to mostly educating himself as best he could. He’d taken a liking to government and law, so he kept his own notes. Learning more in his own time than any high school teacher could teach him.

As he was setting the only book he had to his name, _The Grapes of Wrath_ , a gift from his mother, he heard a door downstairs open. Followed by new voices and then a succession of quick footsteps coming up the stairs.

Alex froze, tense, hands clenching into tight fists. He jumped instinctively when a head popped around the corner peering into his room.

It was a kid, maybe his age. “ _Bonjour!”_ he said, brightly.

Alex frowned. “Ah-”

“I am Gilbert,” he introduced himself, stepping properly into the bedroom. The kid didn’t look much older than Alex, but significantly taller. A grin overtaking his smooth complexion. “Although Martha and George are the only one’s to typically call me that. I usually go by Lafayette. You can call me whichever.”

“ _Bonjour_ ,” Alex said flatly.

Gilbert only smiled brighter. “You are Alexander, _oui?”_

“Alex is fine,” he replied. “You’re French,” he observed dumbly. He frowned. “I mean, they only told me they had a son.”

He shrugged. “I am adopted.”

“Right.” Alexander bit the inside of his lip, a habit that had left the skin soar and tasting coppery. “Ah, so,” he shifted on his feet, feeling awkward. “It’s nice to meet you?” He cursed himself silently when it came out sounding more of a question.

Lafayette stepped fully into the room, undeterred by Alexander’s absent social skills. “I apologize, _Papa_ tells me I can be a bit, he says, enthusiastic.” His smile softened, almost apologetic. “My friends say abrasive.”

Alexander actually smiled, a genuine smile that came unapproved. “I’ve heard that once or twice.”

Lafayette laughed. “Yeah? That’s good.”

Alex raised a brow. “Is it? I’ve found it gets me in trouble more than it doesn’t,” he said, sitting back against the mattress.

“That’s only because we’re still children. _Papa_ says it’s a good trait to have when I’m older,” he shrugged. “Can I sit?” he asked, gesturing towards the space beside Alex.

“What?” Alex startled. “Yeah, ‘course,” he said, scooting back on the bed, the mattress dipping as Lafayette threw himself down.

“I’m very excited that you’re here,” he started, looking overwhelmed with his own honesty. He fidgeted with the sleeve of his sweatshirt, eyes downcast as he admitted, “being an only child is great. But having a brother's always sounded even better.”

Alex swallowed thickly. _Brother?_

“You’re probably a little overwhelmed, I understand,” Lafayette said. “This can’t exactly be fun. But Martha said I could take you to the mall, tomorrow if you wanted. She wants you to have a phone. Then we could get whatever else you need.” He glanced around, frowning at Alexander;’s duffle before breaking out into a wide grin. “We could get you more clothes.”

Alexander swallowed. “Yeah, maybe. It's the middle of the week though. Don’t you have school?”

Lafayette waved a hand dismissively. “I can skip a day or two. And you haven’t been enrolled yet, so you probably won’t start until next week.”

Alex nodded. “Right.”

“You wanna come downstairs?” he asked. “They’re probably starting dinner soon. I could show you around the house? It’s quite big.”

Alex swallowed, feeling an inkling of anxiety. He nodded shallowly. “Yeah, why not?”

Lafayette's smile remained, offering Alexander his hand, clearly pleased when he took it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tite.  
> Thanks for reading. Hope you liked it.  
> Leave a comment letting me know what you thought or what ships you want out of this. I think Lams is pretty concreted in there, but if you want something different hmu. Same goes for other relationships. Just le' me know!
> 
> You can find me on tumblr @Ashtree1165, I'm always down for chats. Like srs, guys, message me. I'm bored.


	2. Here Comes A Thought

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just really wanted to get chapter two up so this story could get rolling. From here on out updates will possibly (hopefully) be at least once week. 
> 
> Sorry in advance if this makes you sad. 
> 
> Also, side note! I tagged Alex as bipolar (or manic depressive) because I think I can do that portrayal justice. As well as the fact that, historically, that's most likely what he had. The social anxiety tag is for later on and is pertaining to Jefferson, as, historically, that is what he had.
> 
> ///
> 
> Chapter title from "Here Comes a Thought" by Rebecca Sugar ft. Estelle from 'Steven Universe' (the purest of all shows).

Alex had nearly forgotten Miss Tyler had promised to stay, and was surprised when Lafayette pulled him into the kitchen by his arm and she was still there. She smiled at Alexander over her glass of water, sat beside Mrs. Washington at the counter. “Settled in?” she asked.

Alex nodded silently, biting his lip.

Mrs. Washington set her own glass down and stood, smiling brightly at Alexander. “It’s very nice to meet you, Alexander. I’m Martha,” she introduced herself. “I sincerely hope that you'll like it here.”

“Hello, ma’am,” Alex said respectively, spine stiffening. He was suddenly extremely nervous. Worried of coming off like a prick to Mrs. Washington. Despite what Lafayette had said, he knew his overbearing tendencies sometimes came off as ungrateful or rude and for some odd reason he actually really wanted Mrs. Washington to like him. 

“I see Gilbert has already glued himself to your side,” she observed, eyes falling to where Lafayette’s hand was still wrapped around Alexander’s wrist. Not quite holding his hand. It suddenly occurred to Alexander what an intimate gesture that was, suggesting familiarity, and he carefully extracted himself by crossing his arms instead. Lafayette didn’t seem to notice Alexander’s discomfort. 

“Don’t crowd him, young man,” she said pointedly to Lafayette. 

“Never,” he said with a grin. “I was just going to show Alex around the house before dinner.  _ Nous ne prendrons pas longtemps.” _

“Sounds like a good idea,” George chimed. “How do you feel about pasta?” he asked, directing the question at Alex. 

“Agreeable.”

George chuckled. “Good. I’m making creamy pesto shrimp for supper, hope that’s alright.”

“Sounds good,” Alex conceded. 

“Oh, it’s better than ‘good’,  _ mon lapin, _ ” Lafayette chimed in a stage whisper. “George’s pesto is spectacular!”

Alex smiled at Lafayette, his enthusiasm was contagious and Alexander feared he was already growing attached.  _ Crap.  _

“I should really go,” Miss Tyler announced. Tugging her coat on, she approached Alexander, offering him a soft smile. “This is where I leave you,” she said. “Promise to call if you need me, alright.”

Alex swallowed. “Promise.” 

She nodded, satisfied. “Okay. Martha, George, it was good to see you.”

“Let me walk you out,” Martha said, rushing to put her own coat back on.

“Thank you again for everything, Jemma,” George called after her. 

“Of course, I’ll see you around.”

Alex watched her go, feeling  _ something  _ about her leaving him again. It was stupid, you weren’t supposed to feel abandoned by your social worker. She was doing her  _ job.  _ That’s all Alexander was. Her job.  _ Get over yourself, man.  _

He felt a cold resolution settle in his stomach as the front door shut behind her. The snowfall had picked up. Part of Alexander wanted to sprint after her, out into the white. 

He was stirred from his mind by someone bumping him lightly on the arm. “Wanna see the library?” Lafayette asked gently. 

“There’s a library?” Alex asked, eyes sparkling.

“Well, it’s more an office, but  _ oui. _ ”

Alex blinked. “Yes.” Yes, that was  _ exactly _ what Alexander wanted to do. He didn’t think a thing when Lafayette took him by the wrist once again and lead him through the house.

The house had more rooms than any Alex had stayed in before. Some rooms had three doors, each leading to another. It was almost like a maze in Alexander’s head and he was honestly impressed Laf knew where he was going. The house was obviously old, very old. Alex would place it in the nineteenth century, maybe earlier. It was beautiful all the same. It had character, that was for sure. 

The library Lafayette had promised him wasn’t perhaps anything too extravagant. Hardly larger than an average home office. Each wall was lined with shelves of books, a ladder placed along the far wall for reaching the top shelves. The room was a brilliant shade a purple, warm and inviting as the winter sun shown through my the open drapes. Books of all sizes and shades created a rainbow that wrapped the room. It was like nothing he had ever seen before, to Alexander it was overwhelming, it was absolutely… “Amazing.”

“You think so?” Lafayette asked, encouraged. “You enjoy reading then?” 

“Oh yeah!” Alex frowned. “I mean, yes. I like to read. I write a lot too,” he admitted, feeling mildly shy about admitting a talent. He wasn’t embarrassed though. He was a good writer and he was proud of his talent. 

Alexander was caught off guard by Lafayette’s excitement. “Really!?” he exclaimed. His eyes bright with excitement. “ _ Maman _ writes!”

Alex frowned, “Martha?”

Laf nodded rapidly, gaining enthusiasm. “She writes journals for the university,” he explained. “But she’s published novels too.”

That Alexander wasn’t expecting. “She writes for the university? What university?”

“Well,” Laf started, “universit _ ies.  _ She lectures at Yale and Columbia, and sometimes Dartmouth. I believe that’s where she earned her doctorate. But she goes around to the local universities a lot too.”

“What does she write?” Alex couldn’t help the curiosity. 

“Political science journals mostly,” he said. “For scholarly journals. She’s a lawyer.”

Alex let that sink in. A lawyer. Alexander had entertained the thought of attending law school. He thought he would make quite a good lawyer. He could put his being brash to a good use. He was very stubborn after all, as he had been told on numerous occasions. 

“What do you write?” 

“What?” No one had asked him that before. No one cared what Alexander writes. 

“What do you write?” he reiterated. 

Alex ducked his head, a smirk pulling at his lips. “Too much,” he said, unable to suppress a small chuckle. That’s what others had always told him. Lafayette smiled. “Usually poems,” he elaborates, deciding to trust Lafayette. “Sometimes short stories when there’s inspiration. Besides that I keep journals.”

“ _ Maman _ encouraged me to keep a journal,” Lafayette comments. “When George and Martha took me in she said writing down my thoughts and emotions would help. I don’t write in it all that much anymore,” he said with a shrug.

“She’s right.”

“Hmm?”

“It helps,” Alex decided softly, picking a book off it’s shelf. Turning it over in his hands, he saw it was an Oscar Wilde poetry collection. It was old, it’s spine fractured but not broke. Bound in a light green cover.

Alex jumped when there was a sudden knocking on the door. The book nearly falling from Alexander’s hand. He fumbled to catch it, quickly placing it back on the shelf. 

It was Mr. washington. 

“Hey,” he smiled at the two of them. “Just wanted to check in,” he explained. “Dinner’ll be ready soon. You doing alright, Alex?”

He nodded. “I’m okay, sir.”

Washington frowned mildly. “I was hoping to have a word with you,” he said, glancing at Lafayette who clearly got the message.

“I’ll go make sure dinner doesn’t burn,” he decided, scurrying out of the room. But not without shooting Alexander a quick smile. 

Washington thanked him as he passed. “You like the library?”

Alex gnawed on his lip. “Yes sir, it’s very… well it’s damn amazing,” Alex praised, enthusiasm seeping through the front he was attempting to keep up. 

Washington chuckled, a deep and smooth sound that Alex found oddly calming. “I’m glad you think so. Gilbert spends a lot of time in here. Though he’s not much of a reader. He likes to paint in here, says there’s good lighting.” He took a seat in one of the arm chairs that occupied the small library, sitting down with a small sigh. Alex thought he looked tired. He had changed out of his suit that he’d worn when Alex arrived, dressed down in dark jeans and a henley. “Why don’t you take a seat, son,” he suggested, gesturing to the twin armchair. 

Alex straightened his spine, once more on the defensive at the drop of a hat. “Not your son.”

Washington seemed surprised by the bite in Alex’s tone, as well as the words. His eyebrows raised a hair. Jemma had explained he had a bit of an attitude at times. Quickly reassuring them that he was still a good kid. Bright. And, “kind when it matters,” she had said. George had been able to see that just from what Jemma had told them about him and from the few school assignments and grade cards she had relayed to him and Martha. Jemma had all the faith in the world in this kid. 

“No, I suppose not,” George apologized softly.

Alex swallowed and took a seat, poised on the edge of the chair. 

“I don’t mean to replace your parents, Alexander,” George started.

“Can’t really replace my dad, I don’t actually remember him much,” Alex said not unbitter.

George nodded, “all the same, I understand that you’ve been through a lot. Martha and I are here to help you. I want you to feel that you can come to the both of us with anything. And I want you to feel at home here.”

Alex suppressed a snort, derision rearing it’s head. 

“I know it’s early, trust me, Gilbert took some time to warm up too. But Martha and I are both going to do our damndest to make it feel like home here for you.”

Alexander averted his eyes, glaring at his sneakers he had yet to take off. It was a similar speech the other three families had given him. However, none had ever seemed as sincere as Washington’s. Alex didn’t trust him per say, but there was something about him that seemed trustable. It wasn’t that Alex didn’t want to trust him. He did! But his mother had told him trust was something to be earned, and Alex had so far found that to ring true. 

Alex simply nodded and said, “thank you, sir.”

Washington smiled. “Please, it’s George,” he said, standing and offering Alex his hand. Which, somewhat reluctantly, he took. “I’m sure Martha will corner you at some point to give you a similar speech. Just know that we both mean it. Truly.”

Alex remained quiet as they walked to the kitchen. His mind ablaze with a million things. He liked the Washington’s so far. They were nice. But wasn’t the family always nice? At the start? It wasn’t even anxiety over the possibility of being kicked out, Alex had been through that, he wasn’t scared of it. It was resignation. Alex was resigned to his fate of being welcomed for a time before he was told to hit the streets. It was how it went.

 

///

 

Dinner was good. Lafayette hadn’t been kidding. George’s pesto was spectacular. 

The dining room was as nice yet homely as the rest of the house. For a wealthy family in a particularly nice neighbourhood, they were surprisingly normal. The dining table was in view of the living room television, which remained on while they ate. Playing the news followed by the beginning of some holiday movie. No one paid it much mind, it was simply white noise. Something Alex was grateful for, he had never liked the quiet.

Mr. Washi-  _ George  _ was surprisingly normal as well, Alex discovered. Drumming his silverware on the table in a tune Alex vaguely recognised as some pop melody he didn’t know the name of. He drummed out the beat towards the end of the meal up until Martha snatched his fork out of his hand. “That’s enough of that. I will stab you with your own fork,” she swore and Alex snorted.

George gave her an innocent wide eyed look. “Martha, don’t encourage violence in front of the boys.”

At that Laf actually laughed, his giggle scratchy but not unpleasant. Alex couldn’t help but laugh in turn, hand coming up to cover the sound.

“Dinner was really good,” Alex decides to say. He fiddles with the remnants of his meal that are left on his plate. “Do you usually cook?” he asks, and finds that he’s actually curious. The other families he’d stayed with had been obnoxiously old school. Breadwinning father, homemaking mother. He supposes that’s what the agency means when they say “stable family structure.” Cookiecutter. Alex finds it horribly dull and more than a little sexist.

George for his part seems pleased with Alexander’s question. “Not always, but I am the better cook of the two of us,” he declares. Alexander assumes it true because Martha doesn’t comment, just takes her and George’s empty plates into the kitchen. He thanks her as she does so. “I’m quite skilled in the kitchen. Martha’s talents lie elsewhere.”

“Martha’s talents lie in the courtroom,” she says, retaking her chair beside George at the table.

“Laf said you were a lawyer,” Alex ejects. “And that you write for scholarly journals.”

She smiled, “that I do. I’m an immigration lawyer.”

Alex’s eyes widened and he unconsciously leaned forward in his chair. “So you help immigrants come into the country?”

Martha, despite her initial shock at Alexander’s enthusiastic response, recovered quickly and smiled. With pride, she said, “yes. I try to make it as quick and painless as I can. I just closed a case for a Syrian family.”

Respect for this woman swelled in Alexander’s chest. He remembered, vaguely, his own process of arriving in the States and began to hold well merited admiration for Martha Washington. “And you write too?” he asked.

“I do. Do you like to write, Alex?”

He nodded swiftly. “Very much.”

Martha’s expression grew tender, brown eyes affectionate. 

“He writes poetry,” Laf piped up.

Martha looked impressed, eyes holding a mutual admiration for the teenager before her. “Is that so? Poetry takes a very specific talent,” she said. “Those who write poetry are those truly in love with language. It’s rhythmical.”

“Sandburg said it’s an echo asking a shadow to dance,” Alex recalled. 

Martha glanced to her husband catching his eye. He was smiling serenely at both Alexander and Gilbert. A very paternal look in his eyes. 

“Ooh. That  _ sounds _ poetic,” Laf mused dreamily and Alex snorted. “Don’t laugh at me,  _ mon lapin!”  _ He swat Alex on the arm. “I have zero literary talents.”

Alex laughed before remembering, “George mentioned you paint?” he asked tentatively. He was unsure if it was something Laf had intended for Alex to know.

Lafayette’s entire being absolutely glowed.  _ “Ouais! Oui, je fais! J'aime peindre!” _

_ “Ralentissez,”  _ Alexander pleaded. 

Laf took a deep breath. “I watercolor paint,” he said. “I can show you, they’re in my room!” he offered. “I started practicing portraits, they’re not so good yet- wait.  _ Mon lapin,  _ you speak French?”

Alex nodded.

_ “Comment pouvez-vous ne pas me dire!? C’est fantastique!”  _ He took Alex by the face and kissed him fervently on the cheek.  _ “Mon lapin!” _

Alexander jerked away in surprise, blinking a good three or four times at Laf. 

“You should have told me you speak French,” Laf chidded, undeterred or oblivious to Alex’s utter shock. 

He wasn’t uncomfortable with Lafayette’s easy display of physical affection, just caught off guard. “You didn’t ask,” he said plainly.

Laughing, Laf conceded, “no I guess I didn’t.”

“Alex, how did you learn to speak French?” Martha asked, chin resting in her hand.

Alex swallowed. “My mom taught me. It’s a pretty common language on the islands. I’m fluent,” he said to Lafayette. “She taught me and my… my brother- since we were kids.” His felt his throat close up, his eyes misting, and hurriedly blinked away the tears that threatened to pool over.

He remembered a time when he and James had sat in the small kitchen of their home in Charlestown. It was the middle of summer and their mother was busy with work, taking a part time job cleaning resort rooms for the tourist season. But she still managed to find the time to cook dinner and sit he and James down at the table to go over their lesson as they ate. French wasn’t taught at the local school, but Rachel was determined for her children to know the language all the same. 

Alex missed the islands. Missed his mother.  _ God  _ he missed his brother.

“Oh, Alex,” Martha looked to George, mildly panicked. 

Alex jumped when George reached out and touched him on the arm, flinching sharply. 

“Easy, son. It’s alright,” George said softly, his thumb running soothing circles on Alex’s arm.

Alex scrubbed his face with his palm, feeling like an idiot. “Sorry, I’m just-”

“It’s okay.”

“I-” he stood, his chair nearly toppling over as he made his retreat. He didn’t pause in his exit, leaving the room at a hurried pace and taking the stairs two at a time. He nearly tripped on the top step, his socked foot catching on the edge. He righted himself, pace never slowing. 

He felt panic rise in his stomach, acidic and sharp. 

He went straight to his new room. Not bothering to even close the door, just throwing himself against the wall, collapsing into a heap on the carpet and sobbing into his knees. Choking from the force of them. He wiped his face, smearing tear tracks across his cheeks. It was pathetic, he knew. But it hurt,  _ damnit!  _ It was painful. No one had asked him about his mother in the other houses. And  _ never  _ had James been brought up. Not once. 

“Alex?” 

Frantically he swiped the fresh tears from his cheeks, smearing them into his hair. It was George. 

The man looked unsure of himself. Dark complexion paled slightly. He tentatively took a seat on the floor in front of Alex. 

“I’m sorry,” he blurted. “I don’t-” he sniffed, his face red from tears and embarrassment. He didn’t let people see him cry.

“You have nothing to apologize for, young man,” George assured him, before asking: “Are you alright? I know it’s a dumb question, but…” 

Alex nodded. 

“Can I ask what you’re upset about? I don’t really know how to help if I don’t know what’s upset you.”

Alex shook his head, fingers gripping his knees and he folded into himself. “I don’t know,” he mumbled. “I haven’t- my mom and my brother…” he choked, hands gripping his hair. “I’m just feeling…  _ a lot  _ right now.” He managed, looking lost. His eyes pleading for… something. For someone to just  _ understand.  _ It hurt and he just needed  _ somebody to understand. _

George looked sad, eyes wide as a sixteen year old orphan openly cried in front of him. But he swallowed, adjusting himself to be beside Alex, arms carefully wrapping around Alexander’s small frame. He was unsure whether it would be okay or accepted, and was surprised when Alex leant into him. So he tightened his grip. Hand running soothing circles on Alex’s back. “Shh, it’s okay.”

Alex sniffed, eyes raw. But George just held him. It was comforting, Alex found.

“You know,” George started when Alex seemed to have settled, tears still streaming but silent now. “When I was about your age I lost my brother. He was sick for a long time. He was older than me, but we were very close.”

“What was his name?” Alex asked softly. 

“Lawrence,” he said. “His name was Lawrence. And your brother?”

Alex swallowed, feeling much calmer. “James.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, please leave a comment! I just rly wanna know what y'all are thinking.
> 
> Also, how do y'all feel about JeffMads later on? Or would you want Jefferson/John Adams?  
> I'm on the fence about Laf/Herc too. Thinkin' I leave it pre-slash/open-to-interpretation. What do you guys think?


	3. It's Like That

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to try posting every wednesday/thursday. 
> 
> Also, this chap is mainly just filler. I'll start introducing characters in the next chapter! I'm excited!
> 
> Chapter title from "Remark" by Rachel Platten.

Alex didn’t sleep that night. After George had left him to get some sleep he lay awake for hours. Staring at the ceiling, listening to the sound of the wind outside, pretending in his mind it was waves crashing against the familiar rock shores. Rather than harsh Virginian winds beating snow against his window. With his eyes closed he could almost picture the trees, the seaside, the nocturnal birds. It was a peaceful image until the harsh winds conjured the memories, the hurricane. 

Opening his eyes, chest heaving, he lay there. Glaring at the ceiling. Maybe he should get one of those white noise machines? Play the sound of the ocean all night. Maybe that would help him sleep.

No, that was stupid, Alex chastised. Recorded whale sounds weren’t going to help him fall asleep. Nothing was going to help him fall asleep.

Besides,  _ falling  _ asleep wasn’t the issue. It was staying asleep that he needed the help with. He’d eventually fall into a light sleep, but wake only minutes later feeling more tired than he did previous. By morning Alex was feeling terrible. Exhausted and empty. The sun shining cheerily in the sky.

He hated it. He hated all of it. He was restless but couldn’t bring himself to get out of bed. He was angry but entirely hollowed out. Like a shell. An empty sea shell not good enough for a single hermit crab. 

So he just rolled back over in bed, pulling the sheets up to his chin. Closing his eyes and pretending he was someplace warm. 

“Alex, sweetie? Are you up?” There was a knock and Martha Washington peered in through the cracked door. “Alex? It’s ten o’clock. Are you feeling alright?”

Alex reluctantly sat up in bad, wishing she would go away. Let him be miserable alone. There was no need to bring her into this. She was nice, he liked her. “Sorry, just tired.”

She frowned. “There’s no need to apologize,” she mended. “I understand you’re tired, yesterday was very exciting. Do you want me to make you breakfast before I go?”

The hollow feeling in Alex extended to his stomach, but even then he didn’t feel hungry. “I’m not really hungry. But, um, I’ll be down in a minute. I’ll find something.”

“Okay. Well I have to go into work, so I’ll see you this evening. I stopped and picked up your cell phone already this morning. Gilbert is staying home today, I believe he wants to take you to the mall. Text me if you need me, alright?”

Alex nodded, running his fingers through his hair. “Okay.”

She smiled and wished him a nice day before shutting the door. 

He didn’t really feel up to it, but he wanted to shower. His hair would appreciate it anyway. 

He could feel the black mood approaching. Slowly but promising in its inevitability. Maybe a shower would stem it off for a while. Probably not, but he entered the ensuite all the same. 

Stepping out of the shower, he cleared a patch of condensation on the fogged up mirror away with his hand. The bathroom and shower had been fully stocked. Everything he could need was in the shower already, folded towels on the back of the toilet. They even had a new toothbrush for him on the sink, still packaged. 

He dried his hair with his towel, squeezing out as much water as he could. Slipping on fresh boxers and a pair of sweatpants, he marched back out to his backpack. Rifling through it he found what he wanted, his hair oil. Miss Tyler had bought it for him when his hair started getting long enough for a ponytail. She had also bought him ponytail holders. It had kind of been a joke, but he used all of it nearly daily.

He worked the oil into his hair, enjoying the feeling, before finding a shirt and socks and heading downstairs. 

He peaking into Laf’s room before he went downstairs, finding it quiet and abandoned. The light of his bedside lamp illuminating the faces on his posters. Alex didn’t recognize any of them. Descending the stairs, Alex heard the living room television on. Lafayette was wide awake eating a bowl of cereal in front of some show Alex didn’t recognize. Listening closer Alex realised it was in French. 

“What are you watching?”

Laf jumped, head spinning around to look at Alex, mouth full. He swallowed. “‘Peppa Pig’.”

“You’re watching French children’s cartoons?”

“Yes.”

Alex blinked. “Okay. Where’s the cereal?” he asked. He still wasn’t hungry, but he knew he should eat something. Not doing so would only bring on the moodswings sooner. 

“The pantry.”

After pouring himself a bowl he came and sat in the arm chair, folding his legs up beneath him. He ate a few bites, each spoonful like sand in his mouth. Tasteless and bland and dry. He frowned and set the bowl aside. He would eat later. He decided to just lay down, he was lethargic but he didn’t want to fall asleep again.

“I figured we would go to the mall today,” Laf announced.  _ “Maman  _ wants me to take you clothes shopping. She says you don’t have enough clothes.”

It was true. His clothes were minimal, but so were all of his belongings. He didn’t have a lot to his name. He didn’t exactly want to go to the mall though either. So he hummed noncommittally. “Okay.”

“Perfect!” Laf jumped to his feet, a wide smile on his face. “I’ll go get dressed.”

 

///

 

The mall wasn’t terrible. Alex picked out most of what he wanted from the first store they stopped in, wanting to just go home. He picked out some jeans, some sweaters, some shirts. His favorite were the black chelsea boots he chose, they came with Laf’s own stamp of approval as well. Alex hadn’t had new shoes in ages and his current sneakers were worn rather thin. 

Laf was doing his best to pick out what he thought fit Alex best, remembering that not everyone was comfortable in the clothes he wore. At one point he started swaying towards the women’s section, and Alex had to gently turn him back around. 

Laf had pouted, “but the ladies’ fashion is so much more, what’s the word? Pretty!” 

“Yes, but  _ I _ don’t  _ want  _ to wear ladies’ clothes,” Alex reminded him.

“Hmm. Fair enough,” he conceded. “I find women’s clothing to have more character though,” he imparted, waving the sleeve of his own loose, green turtleneck at Alex. The sleeves were thick and ruffled and admittedly looked very warm. And the color nice with Laf’s complexion, Alex decided. It was pretty.

“And that suits you,” he conceded. “But I’m comfortable in men's clothes.”

Laf’s expression sobered up quickly. “That doesn’t bother you?” 

With a start Alex realized Laf was genuinely asking him a question. As though Alex would be, what? embarrassed to be around him because he wore women’s sweaters? Because he had bought himself a skirt a half hour ago? Alex hadn’t even realized he was supposed to have a reaction to that.

“Bothered that you like women’s clothes?” 

Laf nodded, eyes averted. 

“Is it supposed to bother me?” he asked.

Lafayette looked startled, he blinked a good two or three times. “I mean…” He didn’t seem to know what to say. “Most people… they don’t like it. It makes them uncomfortable.”

“Laf, I don’t care how you dress,” Alex said. “You’re comfortable in your clothes. So long as you’re comfortable, that’s all that matters. Whether I’m bothered is entirely irrelevant.”

Laf looked satisfied, but not exactly happy. Adjusting his grip on the shopping bags, he kept walking towards the parking garage. He stopped when Alex placed a hand on his shoulder.

“It doesn’t bother me, Laf,” Alex continued. “For the record.”

Lafayette smiled brilliantly, looping an arm around Alexander’s shoulder. “Thank you  _ mon lapin.” _

Alex smiled, hiding his grin against laf’s sweater and chuckling to himself. He was feeling marginally better than he did when he woke up, maybe he could avoid falling into a funk. He didn’t want to admit it, but Lafayette had already needled his way into Alexander’s heart. They just kind of fit together. Maybe Laf had meant it when he called Alex his brother. Maybe they really could have that relationship. The kind that had left a hole in Alex’s heart when he had lost James.

///

Alex was tired by the time they returned home. A night of little to no sleep catching up to him, heavy in his bones. He knew it was partially psychosomatic. The dark mood was lingering over him now like a rain cloud. He could feel it, see it’s shadow as it drew nearer and nearer. Soon to be debilitating as it enraptured him. All consuming in nature, it was what often drove his previous foster parents to a loss. They didn’t know what to do with him when he fell into these black moods as he called them.

“Are you hungry,  _ mon ami?”  _ Laf asked, throwing his shopping bag aside. “I can make us lunch!”

“Not really,” Alex replied. Truthfully, the thought of food held no appeal. “I think I’m going to take a nap.”

Laf looked worried, but didn’t say anything if he was.  _ “D’accord.” _

“Thanks for driving me to the mall,” Alex said, one foot already on the stairs. “And for helping me find clothes.”

“It was my pleasure. No one else lets me do it. Most of my friends lack any sense of fashion,” he said begrudgingly and Alex offered him a somewhat forced chuckle before disappearing up the stairs. 

 

///

 

Laf was worried. 

Maybe he had only known Alex for less than two days, but he could tell something was wrong and he knew he needed to do something. He just didn’t know what. And there was still the small chance that he was overreacting.

His first instinct was to go to Martha and George, but Alexander may not want that. 

Laf bit his lip, unsure. 

Alex had been mopey all day. Subdued and, from Laf had gathered on his character last night, unusually quiet. To be fair, he didn’t know all that much about Alexander yet, so he couldn’t exactly judge him based off of an evening’s encounter. Still… he was worried. 

He sighed. He would talk to George, he decided, tonight when he arrived home from work. Yes, that was the best solution. 

 

///

 

Laf confronted George the moment the man arrived home from the office, kicking snow off his shoes in the foyer and hanging his coat on the rack. He was practically attacked by a very worked up teenager. The young man was on him in an instant, announcing, “we need to talk,” before George was even properly in the house. 

George was apprehensive. “Oka-ay. What is it?”

“It’s Alex.”

George frowned. Was Alex alright? Were he and Gilbert not getting on? They seemed comfortable with each other last night. A thousand situations ran through George’s mind before he finally asked, “what’s wrong?”

“I think he might be ill.”

That wasn’t what George had expected. Though with the small ounce of relief came a wave of concern immediately after. “Why?”

Laf followed him into the kitchen, a bounce in his step that spoke of more anxiety than any positivity. “He’s in bed. He went straight to bed when we got home from the mall. He’s been very…,” he licked his lips. “What’s the word? Apathetic, all day. And he doesn’t seem the type to be so naturally.”

George had to admit he was right. Jemma had spoke of a very lively and enthusiastic young man. “He’s just moved here, Gilbert. I’m sure he’s just a little overwhelmed.”

Laf didn’t seem happy with that. Lafayette was the type to pride himself on his intuition, and his intuition was telling him Alex was unwell. “Yes, but-”

“Just give him some time,” George placated. “Not everyone bounces back as quickly as you.”

Lafayette acquiesced. “Fine.”

The decision obviously didn’t sit well with the kid, but George didn’t know what else to do for the tie being. He’d seen a side of Alex last night that he obviously hadn’t let many people see. He was still mourning the loss of his family, having been unable to do so properly. So George would give him time. If things didn’t improve on their own then he would step in. For now… he needed to just let everyone settle.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thinkin' I'm gonna throw Lewis and Clark in here at some point.  
> They were childhood idols of mine (having grown up in a town along their trail and seeing little 'Lewis & Clark Trail' road signs everywhere and thinking that was the absolute coolest thing ever as a kid!) and I've been reading about them again a lot lately. I really love them.  
> I'd keep em as minor characters, and of course Sacagawea would have to be there too.  
> IDK. We'll see. 
> 
> Please leave a comment! I really appreciate them!!


	4. Feel A Little Warmer Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting early, because Merry Christmas and Happy Hanukkah!! Actually though, I just couldn't wait any longer, I'm writing this pretty quick and I'm really impatient and thrive off of your feedback. 
> 
> We meet some friends in this chapter, I hope y'all like it!
> 
> ///
> 
> Chapter title from "The Woods" by Hollow Coves.

Alex decided he wanted to go to school on Wednesday. He stayed home Monday and Tuesday -- most of which he spent sleeping, but George and Martha didn’t need to know that -- and thought that one more day of doing so would actually drive him out of his mind. 

He wasn’t feeling much better on Tuesday. Moody and run ragged. He had snapped at George, the man had called him “son” and like a coin flip Alex went from apathy to anger. The emotion hot and bitter on his tongue, leaving an acidic taste behind. He saw the surprise register with George and stormed from the room before the man could find a response. He hadn’t wanted George to be mad at him. And it wasn’t fair and he didn’t deserve it, and upon further examination Alex couldn’t actually pinpoint why it had upset him so much. It just… did.

So Wednesday Alex would start school. He had a new backpack and supplies, courtesy of Martha. She had picked everything up on her drive home from work Tuesday night.

“You’re going to love my friends,  _ mon lapin,”  _ Laf promised as they walked towards the school. Students littered the front lawn, though most didn’t linger. It was cold out, snow coating the grass, the sidewalks slick. 

Alex just smiled at Laf’s words, taking careful steps so he wouldn’t fall on his ass.

As they came to the office, Laf wished him a goodbye and pranced off to his first class and Alex went to the front desk. 

“Hi,” he smiled flimsily at the receptionist, fingers drumming on the counter top with contained energy. “I’m uh, a new student. I think I’m supposed to come here?”

The receptionist was a middle aged woman with greying blonde hair that ended at her shoulders. She looked sharp but not necessarily unkind. Her name plaque read, ‘Tammy Ramset.’ “Oh, yes! Mr. Hamilton. I’ll let Mr. Rostler know, and a student ambassador should be right with you to show you to your classes. Here’s your schedule,” she said, handing him a colored slip of paper she pulled from a folder. “You can take a seat right over there,” she said, gesturing towards a row of chairs along the opposite wall, as she picked up the phone.

“Right. Thanks.” Alex didn’t ask who Mr. Rostler was, or if a student ambassador was really necessary, just took his seat, setting his bag at his feet.

“Mr. Hamilton?” The receptionist called after ending her call. “Student ambassador Aaron Burr will be here in a moment.”

“Okay.”

“He’ll take you to your classes today.”

He nodded. “Okay. Thanks.”

She simply smiled, returning to whatever work Alex had interrupted before he showed up. It looked like she was filing her nails and surfing some website.

A few minutes passed where Alex sat quiety, leg jittering, until the office door opened and Alex glanced up to see a dark skinned boy dressed smartly. He looked to Alexander with intelligent eyes and smiled. It was a genuine but reserved expression, not condescending, just closed. “Hey.”

Alex stood, grabbing his bag and throwing it back over his shoulder. “Are you Aaron Burr?” 

The boy nodded, “yeah. It’s Alexander, right?”

“Yup,” Alex smiled and shook his hand.   
“I’m supposed to show you to class. The school’s not that big though,” Aaron explained. “I’m sure you won’t have any problems after today. Just a push in the right direction and you should be okay. You look smart enough to handle yourself.”

Alex couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah, I didn’t really expect to have an escort today,” Alex joked, following Aaron out of the small office. He doubted he’d need much help getting around, he did okay on his own all the time. Navigating New York like a pro all by himself. Aaron was wrong about one thing though, the school was huge. Two floors and a sublevel, Laf said that was where the locker rooms were.

Aaron laughed, it was smooth and charming. “I don’t mind it, it’s kind of fun. I like showing the new kids around, helping people get their bearings. So what do you have first block?”

Oh, right! Alex pulled his schedule out of his jeans pocket, unfolding the blue sheet of paper and smoothing it out against his leg. “Ah, AP English!”

“Teacher?”

“Ms. Ludington.”

Aaron hummed. “That’s on the second floor. Stairs are this way.”

Alex followed him in mostly silence until they came upon the correct classroom. Class hadn’t started yet, so students were still standing about the room, talking and joking with their friends and classmates. 

“Says your next class is Art I,” Aaron read. “That’s just down that hall,” Aaron pointed. “It’s on the left. You can probably find it on your own, but just in case,” he took a pin out of his pocket and scribbled on Alex’s schedule sheet. “That’s my number, text me if you need me. I’m down a floor in European History.”

Alex accepted his schedule back with sincere gratitude. “Thank you.”

Aaron smiled, all perfect teeth and charm and it occurred to Alex that this Burr kid was actually fairly attractive, and Alex smiled back. “Good luck!”

Alex swallowed, entering the classroom just as the bell rang, he took his seat towards the back of the class. He was just pulling out his notebook when he felt a tap on his shoulder.

“Hi.”

Alex blinked at the girl, she was… well she was beautiful. Dark hair in tight curls that framed her sharp face. Almond eyes shone with a fierce determination, for what, Alex wasn’t sure.

“You’re new right?” she asked, jerking Alexander out of his revere. 

“Yeah, yes.” He cleared his throat. “Hi.”

She smiled and Alex felt his chest flutter. Her eyes were beautiful, he realised, they shone with intelligence and kindness. There was a softness to her, around the edges. “Angelica Schuyler.”

“Alexander Hamilton.”

“Where’re you from?” she asked. 

He shook his head, opening his mouth to respond, to say maybe that it wasn’t important. Origin didn’t matter. But before he could come up with a reply, he was stopped. 

“Alright class, settle down!” The teacher, Ms. Ludington, commanded, and the class quickly grew quiet. She was a tall woman with a soft but severe expression. Commanding. She was dressed sharply in a fitted suit, dark hair pulled back into a bun atop her head. “Find your seats, everyone.”

Alex watched the girl -- Angelica -- take a seat beside him and flash him a smile. Feeling light, he returned it. Alex listened attentively throughout the lesson, scribbling some notes when necessary and participating when appropriate. He was happy to have something to do, he had always liked school. Even if he found the topic boring or the lesson plan beneath him, it was something to do. Alex was the type that needed something to do. He couldn’t stand being stagnant. And academia was a place of comfort for him.

“Have you read the story already?” Angelica asked during a lull in the lesson. She gestured towards the copy of  _ Macbeth  _ that the teacher had given him. 

Alex nodded. “We covered it in my last school.”

“Did you enjoy it?” She asked, her tone hopeful, with a hint of doubt.

“It’s not my favorite,” he replied.

“Too bad. I find the thematic usage of the relationship between cruelty and masculinity really interesting,” Angelica said. “The gender roles in particular in Shakespeare’s works always interest me.” 

Alex blinked. “Well in that case, I’m sure you’ve dissected  _ Hamlet  _ quite thoroughly.”

She sent him a wicked grinned. “‘Frailty, thy name is woman’? A rather ironic line, considering Hamlet’s own instability. And don’t get me started on  _ Othello!”  _ She wailed, unable to suppress and snicker and Alex laughed as well.

“All  _ Othello  _ is is about the dynamic between genders,” Alex said. 

“Yes, Shakespeare does highlight the unjust social, political, and moral environment Elizabethan women live in quite well.”

“So your opinions on Lady Macbeth?” Alex prompted, pleased when Angelica's entire face brightened considerably. Her eyes wild.

As the hour progressed Angelica proved to be the brightest kid in the classroom. Alex would almost deem her a teacher’s pet except she didn’t seem to be seeking the attention directly, she simply knew the material. She wasn’t condescending either, not once did she look down upon a student that didn’t know or understand, but was willing to elaborate or explain. To help then understand.

After the bell dismissed them, she stood and waited for Alex to collect his things. “So first day?” she asked.

“Yeah, I’m just relieved the teacher didn’t have me introduce myself to the class,” Alex replied, tossing his backpack over his shoulder. “That’s always a nightmare.”

The two of them stepped out into the hall and Angelica glanced around as if searching for someone. “Well I can show you to your next class,” she offered. “What do you have?”

“Oh, uh, just art,” he replied. “I’m told it’s right down that hall.” He pointed the way Burr had shown him.

“That it is,” she nodded. “Oh, hey,” she waved her arm in the air, trying to catch someone’s attention in the busy hallway as students crowded lockers and headed for their next class. “There she is. Eliza, this is Alex, he’s new.”

The girl Angelica had grabbed was a shade paler, dark hair that looked as smooth as silk brushed over her shoulder. Alex felt his chest flutter. She was beautiful.

“Elizabeth Schuyler,” she introduced herself. Her voice as gentle and as kind as Angelica’s.

“Schuyler?”

“My sister,” Angelica clarified.

“It’s nice to meet you,” she continued, smiling charmingly.

“Eliza’s a grade below us,” Angelica said. 

“Freshman,” Eliza faux cheered, pumping a fist in the air sarcastically. “Yay!”

Alex blinked, realizing he should say something and maybe stop staring before she thought he was a freak.

“I really need to go, I have algebra across the building and down a floor,” she said, clutching her math book to her chest. “I’ll see you around, okay?” 

Alex nodded. “Yeah, I’ll see you.”

“I need to go too,” Angelica said. “Three minute passing periods are hell. See you later, have fun in art!” She waved with her fingers and left.

Alex swallowed and frowned at the art classroom. He was no artist, he only took the class because creative writing and intro to poetry were full for the semester and he really didn’t want a second P.E. class or pottery. 

Shit, Alex sighed. He supposed he could draw stick figures pretty well. And he was pretty good at bullshitting adults, not to mention the whole tenacious overbearing personality of his. Yeah, he could make it through art class. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bet you can guess who's gonna be in art class!
> 
> Also, I may have projected some of myself into Angelica. I love Shakespeare.
> 
> Also also, Shoutout if you know who Ms. Ludington's supposed to be (or IS, really)!
> 
> Comment, let me know your thoughts. I don't think you realize how much I enjoy your comments.


	5. Something Is About to Be Born

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little later than I was hoping, but here it is! Next chapter should be soon!
> 
> chapter title from White Knights by Oh Land

Alex had been sat quietly in the back of the art room for the first ten minutes of class, listening to the teacher drone on about portraiture. Alex didn’t know what most of the terms meant, he was a poet not a portraitist. So he sat and scribbled down the terms he didn’t know -- he would look them up later -- and sketched some semi-recognizable portraits.

About fifteen minutes into class Alex found his mind wandering, along with his eyes. He had some song Laf was singing on the drive over stuck on his head. His eyes landed on a student across the room. They were sat at tables, two students on each side, and this student was sat opposite Alexander facing towards him.

He had his face down, making long strokes with his pencil, drawing something very intently. Alex found himself curious.

He was… well, plainly put, he was beautiful. Burr had been hot, Angelica was pretty, an idiot could see Eliza was blatantly gorgeous. He had to admit that even Lafayette, his new brother figure, was rather very attractive. But he wasn’t attracted to any of them per say -- well, Angelica had an attractive brain and Alex was quite looking forward to talking to her again. This kid though… 

He was  _ adorable _ . Freckled and pink lipped, his hair pulled back. When he looked up his eyes met Alexander’s, and maybe it was Alex’s imagination but he seemed to pause, eyes locked in place. Alexander thought they may be green, but he was too far away for it be decisive. He gave the boy a small smile, he flushed and flashed Alex his own smile before quickly averting his gaze.

It was amusing, that Alex could fluster a boy with a look. He chuckled and returned to his drawing. A few minutes later Alex risked another look, the boy was drawing more briskly, pencil flying. Alex wondered what it was that he was drawing. Was he a better artist than Alex? He imagined he must be, it wouldn’t be a difficult feat by any means. 

Alex waited very impatiently for the hour to be over, flying out of his seat before the bell could finish its obnoxiously drawn out ring. The chair skidded loudly against the tile and Alex quickly pulled his coat on and grabbed his bag. The kid was still at his seat, pulling his own coat on. He looked surprised when Alex approached him, his eyes widening.

“Hi.” The boy offered a smile, lips pulling back to reveal perfectly flawed teeth.

“Hey!” Alex grinned. “I didn’t mean to stare at you during class,” he offered. “I mean, I did, a bit, but I’m sorry if it came across creepy.”

The boy laughed, his eyes shining with amusement. He was absolutely beautiful, up close Alex could see just how much. His vantage point from across the room hadn’t done this boy justice. His eyes  _ were _ green, Alex mentally cheered. “To be fair, I was staring too.”

“I’m Alexander,” he said, “I just moved here earlier this week.”

“John.”

_John,_ Alex repeated the name in his head. Committing it to memory. “What were you drawing during class? You looked like you actually knew what you were doing.” Alex looked down at the sheet that he hadn’t put away yet. He startled when the kid slammed his hand over the paper, grabbing the sheet before Alex could see much of it. “What is it, a crocodile?”

“Ah, alligator,” he looked embarrassed, but Alex couldn’t figure out why, it was really good. “Uh…”

“Is that me?” 

John flushed scarlet. “Ye-ah. About coming across as creepy…”

Alex barked a laugh, eyes filled with mirth. “It’s  _ really  _ good,” Alex said, turning the sheet to get a better look. There were a few turtle sketches, a few people, and one that was clearly Alexander. It was easily identifiable as Alexander, it looked just like him. The shading was beautiful. Alex's hair was composed of individual pencil strokes. The image taking up most of the page. It was lifelike, it was personal, something captured in Alexander’s eyes that caused his chest to flutter. “I mean, it’s- you’re amazing. You’re very talented…” 

“Thank you.” John looked touched, his voice soft, like he wasn’t accustomed to people pointing out his obvious talent.

Alex came over here with a plan, not a game plan per say, but he had a plan! This kid and his drawing though… Alexander couldn’t recall what it was he had wanted to say before. His one weapon, words were what Alex had. They were his tool and now he was tooless! 

It didn’t matter though, the bell signifying the beginning of third period echoed through the school and Alex startled. “Shit, I’m late for class.”

“What do you have?” john asked him, shoving the rest of his things in his messenger bag.

“AP History,” Alex read off his schedule sheet. 

John’s face lit up. “Oh, me too! Don’t worry about being late, Mr. Hale won’t care.” He grabbed Alex by the arm and gently lead him from the now empty classroom. Alex hadn’t even realized they’d been all alone. “It’s across the school, but on the same floor luckily. The three minute passing periods are a total joke.”

Alex smiled. He really was beautiful; John. 

“So what did  _ you _ draw?” John asked him as they walked through the hallway. John took him by the arm so he wouldn’t be separated in the sea of students. 

Alex, flustered by the easy way John touched him, didn’t catch the question.

“Hey, earth to Alex.”

“Hmm, what?”

“What did you draw?” he reiterated, a smirk playing at his lips. 

“Oh,” he slung his backpack in front of him and extracted the paper, handing it to John. “Here.”

“Is this… is this a unicorn?” he asked incredulously, squinting at the paper and turning it to inspect it from every angle. “It is, isn’t it? Either that or a fucked up dolphin.”

“Don’t laugh!” Alex snatched the sheet back. “They’re magical creatures.”

John choked, laughing till he snorted. He covered his mouth, freckled face flushing. “Unicorns or dolphins?”

“Look, not all of us can be artists,” Alex plicated with a disarming smile.

John shook his head. “I’m not an artist, I’m just…” he trailed off with a shrug.

“What?”

“I'm artsy. I don’t know, it’s a hobby.”

A hobby, yeah right. John was way too talented for it to be a hobby. But he didn’t say anything else as the two of them came upon Mr. Hale’s class. It was a hard class to miss, the door tacked with a laminated picture of King Henry VIII captioned with a bad pun. Alex saw Laf in the front row, talking to the kid beside him. He stopped his conversation and waved at Alex, grinning brightly. 

_ “Mon lapin! _ How has your first day been?” He asked, leaping to his feet and kissing Alexander on the cheek. “I see you’ve meet dear Laurens,” Lafayette faux curtsied to John. “Alex, this is Hercules Mulligan,  _ mon ami.”  _ He said with pride. 

Hercules leapt from his seat and, much to Alexander’s shock, wrapped him in a hug. He lifted Alex clean off the ground, the smaller boy gasping. “I already love you,” Hercules professed. 

“Slow down, _mon ami.”_ Laf laughed. “I do have forever dibs, he’s _my_ brother!”  
Hercules looked put out by that. “That’s unfair, you can’t dibs people.”

“Can too!”

“How would you know, you’re foreign.”

“That’s just xenophobic.”  
“Xeno-? It is not!” the larger kid sputtered. “English is your second language, that’s just factual.”

Alex watched them go back and forth until John interrupted. “Wait, wait, Laf!” John shook his head. “ _ Alex _ is your foster brother?” he asked. 

Lafayette nodded proudly.  _ “Oui. _ He is.”

Realization dawned on the John and his freckled cheeks flushed.  _ “You’re  _ Laf’s little lion,” he said.

“What?” Alex asked, face screwed up in his confusion. He was Lafayette’s what now?

“He’s been calling you his  _ petit lion,” _ Hercules clarified, retaking his seat. He twirled a number two pencil around before smacking Lafayette with it. 

Leveling him with a glare, Alex saw Laf’s face flush. Alex couldn’t help but smile in return. Though he couldn’t help but wonder why the hell Laf was going around calling him  _ his lion.  _ Although, it was oddly warming too. Lafayette had only known him for a few days, and vice versa, yet he was already laying his claim over the kid. ‘He’s been calling me his rabbit, to my face.”

_“Oui,”_ he nodded, “you are both a lion _and_ a rabbit,” Laf defended. 

“That makes zero sense,” Alex chuckled. He took the seat behind Lafayette as John sat beside Alex. John offered him a smile, the action hesitant, as if suddenly shy since realizing Alex was Laf’s foster sibling. Alex didn’t understand it, but it didn’t matter. 

“He’s got the look of both predator and prey,” Laf mused stoically. 

Hercules snorted. “Now you’re just quoting movies.”

Lafayette grinned wickedly, “I am not.”

“We watched it together idiot!”

“I don’t recall,” Lafayette said innocently.

Alex leant towards John, it was five minutes after class began, but the teacher still hadn’t shown. “I’m assuming the two of them are always like this.” 

“You’ve got no idea man,” John smiled, pulling his jacket off and draping it over the back of his chair. Alex began doing the same. It was quite warm, and a little stuffy, in this classroom. “I think they should just date already. But they’re both idiots, so they’ll continue dancing around their feelings for a while.”

“Really? Laf seems very,” Alex tilted his head, “straight forward.”

“Yeah, when it comes to being his friend’s personal psychiatrist. But the guy’s blind to his own emotions. Guy feels a thousand things, mostly positive, but can’t label a single one of ‘em.”

Alex smiled. That sounded right. Lafayette was a perpetual ray of sunshine, but he didn’t seem the type to be overly into retrospection or self-reflection. He seemed elastic too, like he would bounce back from every blow without much effort.

Alexander couldn’t believe how attached he had already become to Laf. He was… well he was definitely a light in Alex’s life. He was immensely grateful to have him around. 

Mr. Hale entered the class in a flurry, dropping papers and hurriedly gathering them before dropping everything on his desk. He looked young, as in fresh out of college  _ young.  _ He didn’t look much older than any of the students, Alex thought with amusement.

“Good afternoon, class!” He greeted cheerfully. He straightened his faux tweed vest, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and ran a hand through his hair.

“You’re late!” A female student chimed, teasing the young professor. 

“Yes, yes. As you know, do as I say, not as I do.” He gathered the papers he’d come flying in with into a neat stack. “Luckily for you I was late because the printer in the library’s broke, which no one sought important enough to tell me, so I had to run to the front office. I’ve got your study guides. It’s review day, ladies and gents.”

A few students groaned, others passively accepting the handout. Alex felt a trickle of anxiety. Study guide? But he didn’t have any notes. What unit were they on? Was Alex going to be expected to take the chapter test?

“Alexander,” the teacher addressed him, passing the study guide to the kids around him. “I won’t be expecting a test from you, you’re welcome to look over the study guide however, and take in as much as you can as it will be on the final. If you feel confident enough in the material, you’re welcome to take the unit test. It’s a smaller unit, so hopefully not too overwhelming. We can discuss what you’ve covered in your previous school after class, yeah?”

Alex nodded, taking a study guide. “Thank you, sir.”

Mr. Hale smiled, “I look forward to having you in my class.”

Alex felt much lighter after Mr. Hale spoke with him, glancing over he saw John was watching the exchange, trying to be discreet. Being caught, he offered Alex a smile.

Class went by quickly. Alex spent most of it scribbling in his notebook. Nothing important, poetic stanzas that popped in his head -- nothing solid, some would need revision, some he liked the rawness of the way they flowed unedited. Occasionally, he’d look over and see John, eyes rapt and attentive as they spoke of 18th century war tactics. 

Towards the end of the class John passed him a sheet of paper, slipping it onto Alex's desk wordlessly. Alex gawked at it for a second before picking it up. It was an origami rabbit. Alex carefully set it back down, scared of destroying the delicate creation. It was small and fragile looking, complete with a little tail. It really was adorable. Looking over at John he saw that the other boy was grinning wildly into his study guide and Alex couldn't help but grin back. Not such a bad first day at all, he decided.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra points to whoever figures out what movie Laf was quoting!


	6. We Can't Stand to Fall Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought y'all deserved a bonus chapter! 
> 
> I would like to state before hand, my interpretation of Jefferson may be a tad more tame(?) than others. While I adore ‘Hamilton,’ I’m a huge ‘1776’ fan as well, not to mention an early American history major. So, he’s going to be a tad less of a flamboyant ass and more… of a Jefferson ass? I love the Magenta ass Disney villain Jefferson, I do, but I don't think I'd be any good at writing that characterization anyway. He was actually incredibly awkward and a weird silent fuck irl, and good friends with Lafayette too. And while I could go on endlessly about the controversial enigma of a man that was T. Jefferson, basically I’d like to believe that idealistic, abolitionist, champion of the American people Marquis de Lafayette would never be so close to a man that was a COMPLETE asshole. 
> 
> Also, fun fact: Jefferson had a bust of Hamilton in his front room??? Like why Boo????
> 
> Okay, anyway, enjoy! There's a little bit of a slightly manic Alex here. I'm going to really start focusing on the mental illness and Alexander's mindset in the next few chapters and this is really more of a build up to that, so I hope you like it and I mean no disrespect in the usage of mental illness in my story. 
> 
> ///
> 
> Chapter title from 'It Pulls Me Under" by Butterfly Boucher

Alexander’s first day had gone wonderfully. After history he’d jogged down to the sub-level for gym. Which, luckily, he had with both Laf and Hercules. It had been fun, honestly. Dodge ball had quickly turned into an all out brawl of kill or be killed with the instructor having zero control over the students, ending with Alex nailing Herc in the face with a foam ball hard enough to knock him on his ass. Alex had stopped breathing, the room silent as Mulligan dropped with an audible _oof_. The room remained frozen until Hercules himself had burst into a fit of laughter. He was grinning wildly, ear to ear, manically, and swept Alexander clean off his feet, throwing him over his shoulder with booming laughter.

Alex was perplexed, apologizing fervently. He hadn’t been aiming for his face, he swore it! But it fell on deaf ears.

“You’ve got a mean swing little man!” Herc bellowed. “Laf was right, you look like a rabbit, but kid you’re a damn lion!”

Alexander couldn’t help but smile in return. He liked Hercules. Their other classmates were equally as amused with it all, and impressed. Alex gathered Herc wasn’t exactly the easiest to knock on his ass. He got a few pats on the back in the locker room after.

Alex was left with an abundance of energy afterwards. He didn’t want to go back to the Washington’s, he wanted to _do_ something. But all the same they went home and Alex had to find something to direct his energy into.

He decided to write. He had ideas and words, words, so many words! Things to say. Things that needed to be written down and expressed because they _could_ be and wasn’t that great? That he could _create_ with words, that people had that capability! He could build cathedrals out of paragraphs!

After setting the origami rabbit John made on his desk with care, he dug through his bag, extracting the sheet he’d scribbled on during class. He paused when a secondary sheet came away with it, a third sheet falling to the floor. The first was the portrait of him John had drawn in art class. He must have slipped it into Alex’s notebook. It really was beautiful. The second sheet that had landed on the carpet was unfamiliar and showed a detailed drawing of a turtle. It was done in colored pencil, shaded in greens and oranges. John’s little signature marked the bottom of the shell. Flipping it over Alex read the words, ‘green sea turtle.’ Below which was written, ‘I wanted you to have this, John XOXO.’ What was ‘XOXO’ supposed to mean? Alex’s mind spun when suddenly he was struck with an idea.

Quickly, he ran downstairs, sliding into the kitchen on socked feet. George raised a single brow as the kid came barreling in, pausing in his current task of chopping a lemon. He was dressed down in a flannel, tucked into his dark jeans and shoeless. Briefly, Alex wondered what he was cooking but pushed the thought aside. Stay on task, he told himself.

“Do you have tape?” he asked, before holding up a finger. “Follow up question: am I allowed to tape things to my walls? I wasn’t sure, Laf has posters on his walls but most of those are framed.”

George took his time answering. He set his knife aside, watched Alex a moment, and then asked, “what are you taping?”

“A picture.”

George nodded slowly. “There’s tape in my desk drawer,” he answered. “We could get you a tackboard if you wanted. Or a hanging wire,” he offered.

Alex paused. He hadn’t thought of that. That was the logical long term solution. But Alex wasn’t thinking in terms of long term right now, he wanted fast acting immediate solutions. “I’ll use tape for now, thank you though!” Alex spun to take off before pausing, socked feet sputtering. “Scotch tape won’t peal the paint, right?”

George shook his head.

“Awesome!”

He heard George snort as he took off. Alex sped through the house, swinging into the library and aiming right for the desk. Lafayette was there, he looked up from his paint as Alex swung in declaring, “Tape, I need tape!”

Laf reached into the drawer and tossed it to Alex. Never even looking up from his work. “What are you taping?” he asked.

“John’s turtle to my wall,” Alex replied.

Laf smiled knowingly. _“Entiché,_ are we?”

Alex scrunched his nose up. “What? No. What? Why would you say that?”

Laf snorted. “You are taping his drawing to your wall.”

“So? It’s a good drawing.”

_“C’est une tortue.”_

_“O_ _ù veux-tu en venir?”_

Laf shrugged. “I am only saying.”

Alex hummed. “Whatever. Gotta go!”

Once back in his room Alex gently taped John’s turtle drawing to his wall, oh so very carefully, loath to tear it. Keeping the tape only on the backside of the drawing. Stepping back, Alex admired his handy work. Perfect. Now it was time to write.

Alex propped his laptop open on his lap, Martha had picked it up for him. Alex had refused, he couldn’t keep taking their handouts -- he worked for what he got. But she claimed he _needed_ it for school and that if he were that worried about it she was sure she could come up with a thing or two for him to do to pay it off. All the same, Alexander was grateful.

Pulling up a blank document, Alex began revising the stanzas he'd created and forming completed poems. He felt the words flow faster than he could think on them, his mind working in overdrive. It felt good.

Alexander hadn't realised how much time had passed until there was a knocking at his door.

“Dinner’s ready,” Laf announced, letting himself into the room.

“Not hungry.”

Lafayette rolled his eyes. “Doesn't matter,” he said. “Come, _mon lapin_. George has made lemon baked chicken, you'll like it.”

Alex had to peel his eyes from his laptop to Laf’s face. He chewed his lip. He supposed Laf was right, he did need to eat, he knew that. Even if he wasn't conscious of his hunger, he would be later. Reluctantly, he said, “Okay.”

“What are you doing?” Laf asked, taking in Alexander’s scattered notebook pages and the doc he had opened on his laptop.

“Writing,” Alex said plainly. Wasn’t it obvious?

Laf gave him a look that Alexander couldn’t decipher. His brows furrowed and pulled into a frown. “Come,” he tugged on Alex’s sleeve and led him from the room. “You’ll feel better after you eat,” he declared.

“I feel fine,” Alex said. What was Laf talking about?

But the French teen kept his silence.

 

///

 

Alexander’s second day of school started much the same as his first day. Biology was a drag, not interesting enough and not challenging enough to stick out as much in Alexander’s mind. Ms. du Châtelet was a nice enough teacher, but she lacked the talent to make the class very entertaining. She was so analytical, it was a bore. Math went much the same, boring and slow. Alexander understood finance, as far as he was concerned that was all he _needed_ to know!

Debate was what Alexander found he was looking forward too most. It was his third class of the day, and Alex was excited for something actually entertaining.

But first he had lunch, which Alex was fortunate enough to have with Laf, Hercules and John. “So what’s next on the schedj?” Herc asked, stabbing at his tatertots he had already drowned in ketchup.

“Debate!” Alex declared enthusiastically.

“And you’re excited about that?” Hercules asked, perplexed. His face screwed up in a look of utter confusion.

Alex nodded rapidly. “Hell yes!” he said through a mouthful of peanut butter and jelly. “I’m great at arguing,” he said then shrugged. “Helps that I’m very opinionated. Too opinionated if you ask most adults.”

John laughed, sipping his chocolate milk carton through a straw. Alex thought it was weird until it was suddenly cute. He also wore his hair down today, which had taken Alex approximately two whole minutes to process before he was capable of speech again.

Hercules was shaking his head emphatically. “I’m not argumental,” he said. “I hate fighting. I’m a hugger, not a fighter.”

“Not the most verbally creative either,” Laf chimed. “Alex is a poet, I am not surprised that he would be good at debating. He is very elegant with his words.”

“You’re a poet?” John asked.

Alex felt his cheeks flush. “You could say that.”

“You _should_ say that,” Lafayette insisted. “It is the truth.”

“Then John has to admit he’s an artist,” Alex argued.

John flushed, “that’s different.”

Hercules had developed a sly smirk, catching on. “How so?” he asked.

“Well I- it, I mean…” he sputtered haplessly.

“It is settled then,” Lafayette said. “Alex is a poet, Laurens is an artist, and Hercules can sew,” he declared, clapping his hands with a smile. “What do you have after this debate class?”

“I hardly see what my nimble fingers have to do with anything,” Hercules was muttering.

“French,” Alex said.

Lafayette snorted, “but you are already quite fluent in the language _mon ami!”_ he declared with an ounce of shock. “What is the point?”

Alex shrugged, taking another bite of his sandwich. “Easy A? And I didn’t know what else to take. I told you, I’m _not_ taking pottery!”

Laf smiled, undeterred. _“_ _N'est-ce pas tricher à prendre une classe sur une langue que tu avez déjà maîtrisé?”_

_“Ce n'est pas tricher!”_

John looked to Hercules helplessly who only shrugged. Neither of them understood a word of French. John was struck, however, by how much like siblings the two already seemed. Arguing over the lunch table.

_“Il n'est toujours pas approprié.”_

_“Non approprié? Ou inapproprié!”_

“That is not my point!” Lafayette shot back. “It is true though.” Alex snorted and Lafayette caved. “All the same, you will like Madame de Mericourt,” he decided. “She is from Belgium but grew up mostly in Paris. She is an excellent instructor. Very intelligent.”

“How do you know that?” Hercules asked. “You’ve never taken French.”

“Don’t see why you would,” John chimed.

 _“Oui._ I have had lunch with her occasionally,” he answered.

“You’re having lunch with a teacher?” John asked bewildered. “Isn’t that a little, I don’t know, inappropriate?” he asked, causing Alex to snort into his juice, much to John’s confusion.

“No, not with a teacher. With three teachers,” he corrected, holding up three fingers.

Alex laughed in disbelief, “what? Why?”

“Mme. de Mericourt, Mme. du Châtelet, and Mlle. de Gouges all hail from my wonderful country. So every first Friday of the month we have lunch,” he said nonchalantly, stealing a tatertot from Hercules’ tray and popping it in his mouth.

John laughed, “oh my god! You have a monthly French ladies lunch!”

_“Oui.”_

John laughed harder, folding in on himself. “You are unbelievable!” He cried, voice tight with the laugher he was attempting to reign in. Alex wished he wouldn’t, he liked the sound of John’s laugh. It was loud but gentle. It was fitting. He wanted to hear it every day, he decided.

Lunch ended too quickly, in Alex’s opinion. He was, however, looking forward to debate class all the same. He wanted on the debate team, but supposedly that was strictly a upperclassman junior-senior thing. His thought process, though, was that maybe if he proved he was good at this -- better than average admittedly -- he’d secure a spot on the team next semester. Never once did it occur to Alex that he could be in a different school, a different home, different state, next semester. He’d already fallen into such comfort at the Washington’s after less than a week. It was only Thursday after all. He’d known Lafayette for five days, John and Hercules less, and already he felt… comfortable.

Debate was across school, on the second floor, in the same hallway he had had English with Angelica the day before. It was on his way there that he ran into Aaron Burr.

Alex smiled widely as he spotted the familiar face. He had liked Aaron, honestly. He was sort of silent, a usual turn off for Alexander, but something about him was intriguing to Alex all the same. His silence was oddly commanding.

“Burr!” Alex jogged up to walk alongside him.

“Alexander, hi,” Aaron smiled not unkindly. “How was the first day?” he asked.

“Not bad, not bad. Off to debate now. You?”

“Debate’s not really my taste,” he admitted. “I’m headed for Intro to Law.”

“That sounds fun,” Alex said truthfully and Aaron smiled. Alex was struck by how much taller Aaron was than him. Not as tall as Herc, but close. “I thought about majoring in law,” he announced. “I’m thinking PolySci is more my field though.”

Aaron hummed. “You have time to change your mind. You know American University’s law program has an info lecture next month for undecided high school students,” he parted. “You’re only a sophomore, but it couldn’t hurt. Get a head start, start narrowing the board early. You should come with me,” he offered.

“Seriously? Yeah, okay,” he said quickly before backpedaling. “I mean, I’d have to ask first, but I’d love to!”

“Okay.”

“I’ll text you?”

Aaron smiled sincerely, “be sure to.”

With that, Aaron walked off, entering a classroom at the crossroads of two hallways and Alex was left alone. Conveniently, directly in front of his classroom.

The room was sparsely occupied, maybe fifteen students scattered across desks. Alex recognized a few students from other classes, but he didn’t know any of them by name. There was one girl that shot him a slight smile, her blonde hair draped in a long, thick braid over her shoulder. She was sat atop a desk of a girl with dark cropped hair that curled at the ends. Hopping off she approached Alex, offering him her hand.

“Hi, I’m Kate. I think we have biology together,” she said. "Châtelet, first block this morning?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Alex nodded. “I’m Alex. You sat in the front row, right?” he asked, shaking her proffered hand. It was thin and manicured, her nails a fine pink. A thin bedazzled ring decorated her middle finger.

Her pink lipped smile widened. “Yeah! This is Bee by the way,” she introduced the girl dark haired girl.

She smiled, offering Alex a wave. “Deborah Sampson, most people call me Deb,” she explained. “Kate’s really the only one that calls me Bee. Despite what she’ll lead you to believe.” Kate grinned and there was a wickedness there that reminded Alex of Laf.

“I’m Alex,” he replied simply.

“New?” Deb asked.

He nodded. “Yeah, I’m living with Lafayette, you know him?”

“Oh, you mean the Washingtons!?” Kate beamed. “Yeah, we know them. Mr. Washington works with my mom. He’s super nice, seems like a cool guy.”

“Yeah, they’re both the best,” he said without inflection. He wasn’t ungrateful, he was just…

“Everyone knows the Marquis,” Deb clarified. “Even if you’ve never talked to the guy, you know him. He’s not exactly shy,” she said with clear amusement. “Sweet kid though.”

Alex smiled warmly. She wasn’t wrong there.

“Lookout, here comes Jeeves and Wooster,” Deb said dryly.

Kate hummed. “I think you’re being too generous with that one,” she said. “Giving them both way too much credit. I mean which one’s which?”

Deb shook her head and said something to Kate that Alex didn’t catch, turning to see who they were talking about. It was two guys, one significantly taller than the other. Alex felt distaste rise in his stomach at the sight of the taller one. He was dressed in a terrible shade of purple, Alexander hated it instantly.

“I mean they’re both smart,” Kate continued. “But I guess John would have to be Jeeves, right?” she shrugged. “I mean there’s a serious height problem in the analogy.”

“Let it go, Katie.”

“You’re the one that said it, Bee.”

“It was a _joke,”_ she insisted.

“Who’re they?” Ale asked.

Deb rolled her eyes, “just Thomas Jefferson and John Adams. They’re nobody, ignore them.”

“Thomas is crazy smart really,” Kate said. “He’s a sophomore, but he’ll probably be on debate team next semester. I hear he’s got a 4.0 GPA. The English department loves him,” she sighed.

“It’s Kate’s dream to be the English department’s darling,” Deb drawled.

“Oh shut up. Adams is nice,” Kate said, sounding a little forced. “I mean, he’s not _not_ nice.”

Deb laughed. “Would you let the poor boy make his own judgements? Stop trying to real in the new kid. Let him test the waters, jeeze.”

Alex watched Jefferson take his seat, Adams following him. They sat towards the back, well Jefferson did, Adams sat in front of him looking like he’d be happier in the very front row. They were across the room from Alex who took up a seat beside Kate and Deb. The teacher, Mr. Allen, seemed like a nice guy. They did group debates, splitting the class in two and having them work on team building. Jefferson had ended up on Alex’s team, sitting quietly in the back of the group. His eyes attentive, but mouth mostly shut. He would chime in occasionally, mostly to deliver a sharp critique to the argument they were forming over the topic of social media pros. It was driving Alex up the fucking wall!

“Do you actually have anything constructive to add, or are you just going to keep telling us our ideas are stupid?” Alex finally asked.

Thomas blinked at Alexander, “and you are?”

“Alexander,” he said through clenched teeth. His eyes narrowing.

“Well, Alexander, maybe if you had a solid argument I wouldn’t have to keep telling you how idiotic your ideas are,” he said. “Now we only have a five minute work period, so if we could get moving?”

Alex could seriously punch the guy. Hell, he _wanted_ to punch the guy. His face looked very punchable!

In the end they formed a rather solid argument, yet to seemingly Thomas’s amusement, they were all but torn apart by the opposite team’s John Adams.

Class went by far too slowly, if you asked Alexander.

After the bell, Alex all but bolted for the door. But, alas, the universe seemed to hate him, truly. “Hamilton!”

He froze, it wasn’t Thomas at least, but John Adams. What the hell did he want? He may have asked that out loud, he realized.

Adams frowned. “I was only going to say hello,” he said. “I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself in class.”

“Right, well…” Alex stuffed his hands in his pockets to keep them from flying towards noses.

“You had a good argument,” he said. “Surprisingly sound.”

The compliment, if that’s what it was meant to be at all, really sounded more like charity. “Yeah, I bet. That why you beat me?”

“Thomas is an ass that thinks with his dick first,” Adams said. “I don’t blame you for hating him already. No need to cock an attitude with the world over it.”

Alex watched him walk away, irritation rolling off of him in waves. Well that bridge was burnt before it was ever really constructed. Not much of a loss really. Watching Jefferson follow after him with a smirk on his lips was only further maddening. The asshole had managed to make the one thing Alex had been looking forward to all day miserable. He hoped he was fucking proud of himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kate and Deb are real people! Kate is Catherine Moore Barry and Deb is Deborah Sampson. Deborah means Bee, so I thought it'd be a cute nickname. They were both total badasses! Sampson basically (literally) pulled a Mulan. Love her. And Kate I just have a soft spot for. 
> 
> Oh, and the teachers Laf mentioned were Émilie du Châtelet, Theroigne de Mericourt, and Olympe de Gouges. The Debate teacher is Ethan Allen. They're all real people. Feel free to google the fuck outta them all!
> 
> Please comment, I enjoy hearing your thoughts and try always replying!<3


	7. You Don't Have to Drive With Your Headlights Off

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I. AM. SO. SORRY.
> 
> This is the first update in over a month and IM SORRY. And what's worse is this is the SHORTEST CHAPTER. IM SORRY. 
> 
> The next one will be up so MUCH SOONER though. Life got in the way guys, and January was a fucking trip, let me tell you. I had a lot going, it was very overwhelming, and I needed a break. But now I'm back in the swing of things! Next chapter will be quick and it'll be MUCH longer. 
> 
> Also, I edited last chapter a bit, cus i noticed some mistakes, but nothing plot effective. 
> 
> ///
> 
> Chapter title from "Broken Ones" by Dia Frampton

George worries. He doesn’t make it a habit, and usually he doesn’t have much to be too worried about in the grand scheme of things. He worries about his family, the way anyone worries constantly but not overwhelmingly about their loved ones. Just a thought in the back of their mind, wishing their loved ones well. He worries about his job, about doing a good job and being fare, careful not to make an uncorrectable mistake. But those things are different. Different from the worry he feels about Alexander. 

Before he and Martha adopted Gilbert, George could never really see himself as a father. He had never entertained the thought really, it had simply never come up. He was a career driven man, and so was Martha. Yet when being faced with a homeless and orphaned child, George hadn’t hesitated. They hadn’t even needed to discuss it, it was a given. That boy was theirs before the papers were even signed. And taking him in, it was the best day of George's life, and he was sure Martha had felt the same. 

And then there came along Alexander.

Alexander had been different from Gilbert. He was a mystery to George. 

Martha received a phone call from a friend, detailing the story of a young immigrant boy, much in the same situation Gilbert had been found in. And it was like déjà vu. Once again, George hadn’t needed to think. That boy was theirs and they were taking him home and that was the end of it.

The paternal feelings that Gilbert had awoken in George had extended to Alexander before he had even laid eyes on him. It came naturally now.

But he couldn't get a reading on Alex like he had Gilbert. He was quieter, more reserved. And  George was worried, he didn’t know what to do about it either. He couldn’t even pinpoint why he was so damn worried. No, that wasn’t entirely true was it?

Alexander’s first night was rough to say the least. He had cried himself to exhaustion in George’s arms. Mourning the loss of his mother and brother. George hadn’t even known the boy had had a brother. He didn’t think anyone did. He had never been mentioned, wasn’t listed in Alexander’s list of kin. Not a single file. Alex had been rushed from home to home so spontaneously, he had yet time to process the devastating loss. It was far from healthy. It was possibly damaging. George was no psychiatrist, but he knew when someone was in need of help. And Alexander was most definitely in need of help.

Yet what baffled George was his stoicism. After that isolated incident, that single night of weakness, he didn't let slip a sound. Melancholic and reserved, but not a tear was shed to George's knowledge. It was a shield stronger than George had ever seen in a child his age before. 

Maybe he needed to see someone. Someone professional, who knew what they were doing. Because George most definitely, for once in his life, did not. It was a loss of control he wasn’t accustomed to feeling. 

He knew everyone dealt with loss and emotional trauma in different way, and it looked like Alexander wasn’t dealing at all. 

He had thought, perhaps, that after that night, that that may have been a breakthrough moment. But it seemed more as if Alexander had only bottled it all back up the next morning. 

Lafayette had seen this a mile away. He had approached George over a week ago saying he thought something was wrong with the young man. But George had been so confident that Alex was going to be alright, he had  _ really _ thought that after he’d spoke with Alex that the boy’s grieving process had been sparked. 

He had been very wrong.

he should have listened to Gilbert, the boy was notable keen. He had been wrong and wasn’t afraid to admit that. He never had a problem owning up to his own mistakes. He wasn’t too proud to do so. But… God he had been wrong. And what was worse, it wasn’t just himself that suffered the consequences of that slip up. 

Alexander Hamilton had been with them almost a month now. On the surface he appeared to be adjusting quite well. But George thought it nigh time he make a few phone calls. 

He knew several psychiatrists that came highly recommended. Some specialists for children and young adults, others simply excellent. A career in politics brought with it quite a few psychiatric friends, it was a stressful career path to say the least. So yes, George would be making some phone calls. And hopefully, by the end of the week, he would have something to show for it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, so sorry. But this is literally all i wrote through all of January and I really wanted just a quick something from George, almost a stream of consciousness little chapter so I hope you liked it at all. I feel really bad, but I wanted to get something out there to let u know I haven't abandoned this and I love all of you!!!
> 
> Pls, let me know ur thoughts.


	8. All We Do Is Fake Our Feelings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit later than I intended, but I have a lot of hmwrk. Lots of poli-sci work and a paper on Andrew Jackson due soon. Fuck Andrew Jackson. Also, I'm up to my ears in the Sherlock fandom so there's that, and that's fun, but damn it if it's not ruined my life. 
> 
> I hope you guys like this. It took so long because I deleted this chapter a few times, I knew what i wanted to get across but the execution was killing me. 
> 
> ///
> 
> Title from "Woke the F*** Up" by Jon Bellion

Dinner with the Washington’s was one of Alexander’s favorite things about his new home… when he had began calling it home, he wasn’t sure. He had been doing it quite frequently though. It had been over a month now, Christmas was coming soon, and for once in his life, he was looking forward to the holidays. His classes next semester were more or less the same. No more art class, but he had creative writing instead. That was one less class with John, but Alex supposed he would survive it. George and Martha even agreed to let him go with Aaron Burr on that visit to American University. 

The first month was always the most painful for Alex when he was being pawned off on a new family. Yet… this was different. The Washington’s were different. It was all entirely polar to what Alexander was accustomed to. Alex had never had anyone like Laf before either. And then there were his friends at school. He had never had a group of friends before. And now there was Herc, Aaron, the Schuyler sisters, Kate and Deb in debate class… John. George and Martha were like no other couple he had stayed with either. He didn’t feel so pawned off this time round.

Anyway, dinner with the Washington’s was Alexander’s favorite. He had never had family dinners before, not since his mother and James were alive. It was good though, it was nice, it was  _ loving.  _

The sound of George’s laugh pulled Alexander from his thoughts. The older man was laughing at something Martha had said, and with a look at Laf he saw the other boy was laughing as well. This was all still so new to Alex, so surreal at times. Sometime he felt he didn’t deserve it.

He shook his head, why was he being so emotional tonight? Maybe it was the Christmas lights and decor that had overtaken the house. The Christmas Tree twinkling brightly in a corner of the living room. It was nothing like the holiday back home on the islands. Christmas in the Caribbean was different, no tree, no lights. Definitely no snow.

“Alex, sweetie, are you alright?” Martha asked. “You’ve been awfully quiet tonight.”

He startled. “Oh, yeah, I’m fine.” In truth he could feel his mood souring. Even his love for the family dinners that have become routine for Alexander during his time with the Washington’s wasn’t enough to keep his spirits light. He’s been launching wildly between days where he wanted nothing more than to lay in bed and days where he was full of so much energy he had to sit on his hands to keep still. 

It was exhausting. 

“I’m not so hungry,” he fibbed. It was half the truth. With his eyes averted, he missed the look of concern George had leveled him with. “I’m actually pretty tired,” he said. 

“Are you feeling alright?” Martha asked.

Beside him, Laf gasped. “You are not sick, are you?”

“No, no I’m fine,” he assured him. “Just think I may go to bed early.”

“Alright, sweetie,” Martha said. “If you’re not hungry, that’s fine. I’ll take care of your plate.”

“Thank you,” he said. “Thanks for dinner,” he said to George.

“You’re welcome, son.” George exchanged a look with Martha as Alex went upstairs.

“I told you,” Laf said sternly. Turning on George the moment Alex was out of earshot.

George blinked, caught off guard by Gilbert’s sudden assertive tone. 

“He gets upset sometimes,” he started. “He’s adjusted now, it’s not nerves anymore. He calls this home now, you know,” he said. “But sometimes he’ll just be upset, or sad. And he won’t talk to me about it. And then the next day he’ll have too much energy to keep up with.”

“I know.”

“George,” Martha said softly.

George swallowed. “I know, Gilbert. I had hoped it was just nerves, you were pretty upset when you first moved in too,” he said. “But believe me, I’ve noticed Alexander’s… moods. Martha and I are looking for a suitable therapist,” he omitted. 

Laf’s eyes lit up. “A therapist is a good idea. He will not want to go though. He is too stubborn.”

Martha sighed. “He really is.”

Up in his room Alex threw himself down on his bed, blinking back tears he hadn’t realized were there. He didn’t know why he was suddenly so upset and he hated it. Hated all of it. It was just… sometimes he had this overwhelming  _ guilt.  _ This feeling that he shouldn’t have survived, when everyone else had died. His mother, James, nearly everyone he knew on St. Croix after the hurricane. It wasn’t fair, why did  _ he  _ survive? He did not deserve it.

Alex sighed heavily, feeling like a weight had settled on his chest, compressing his ribcage. His hands trembled slightly and he struggled to keep a sob from climbing out, swallowing it down where it got lodged in his throat. 

Running his hands across his face, he blinked at the ceiling, glaring at his wall, and his face softened. The wall he had taped John’s turtle drawing to was now much more colorful. He had got John to draw him another one once, larger and colorful. In total his wall was now decorated with three turtles and a handful of fish Laf had painted for him. It reminded him of the sea.

Taking a deep breath he sat up.  _ Une, deux, trois, _ he counted out slowly on the inhale. And again as he exhaled.  _ Une, deux, trois.  _ He needed to calm down, he knew that. He was just…  _ guilty,  _ his mind provided.  _ Undeserving.  _ He didn’t know when the tears had begun to fall, but there they were. 

A knock on his door startled him and he quickly wiped the tears away. “Yeah?”

It was George, smiling wanly. His face softened as he saw Alexander’s reddened face. “I just wanted to talk to you a moment, but if you’d rather I left you alone…” 

“No, I’m-” he cleared his throat. “I’m fine. What did you want to talk to me about?” he asked. 

“Martha and I have been thinking,” he started. “Actually, I had the idea that maybe you would benefit from talking to someone.”

Alex sniffled, tugging on his sleeve nervously and sitting with his legs folded. He didn’t like this conversation already, was it too late to change his mind and tell George he would rather be left alone? “I don’t need to talk to someone,” he argued weakly. 

“Gilbert thinks that you do,” George said plainly. 

That caught Alexander off guard. Gilbert had been talking about him to George? Been talking about his concerns for Alex’s mental health to George? He felt a swell of anger but it was weak at best, burning then sizzling to ash in a flash. “And why does Gilbert think that?” he asked. 

“He’s worried about you,” he explained, stepping properly into the room and shutting the door behind him. “He has noticed you have a few… mood swings, pretty often, he says. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t noticed myself. He just wants to make sure you’re okay but he says you won’t talk to him. We all want you to be okay, Alex.”

Alex shifted. “Yeah, well…” he shrugged. He didn’t know what to say, an unusual experience for himself, but he also didn’t know what he wanted. He had mood swings, sure. But he wasn’t, well, they weren’t so inconvenient; he managed. There was a voice that chimed in, in the back of his head that sounded awfully alot like his mother:  _ You shouldn’t have to  _ manage,  _ Alexander. _

Alex shook his head. 

_ Listen to your mother, Alex. _

His licked his lips, biting the bottom one harshly in an attempt to hide it trembling. He felt the tears swelling back up. “What if I don’t have anything to say?” he managed to ask. 

“That’s okay, too,” George assured him. He sighed. “I think you need to grieve Alexander,” he said. “You’ve lost a lot, but Jemma tells me you haven’t opened up to anyone about it. Keeping all of that bottled up,” he shook his head, “that’s not healthy.”

“I just- I don’t… I don’t know how to talk about it,” Alex admits softly. “It hurts, and I don’t know what to do about it. Some days are better than others.”

George swallowed. He had an overwhelming sense of uselessness. “Martha and I have found a therapist,” he declared, shuffling on his feet, wanting to comfort Alex but unsure if it would be welcome. He decided to take his chances and take a seat on the bed beside Alexander. The last time they were found in a similar situation Alex hadn’t rejected his attempts at comforting him, and he was hoping for a similar reaction. “She comes highly recommended, excellent track record. Heard only good things,” he relays stiffly. “Would you be willing to give that a chance, Alexander?”

A chance? He had a choice, he was being given a choice… adults never gave Alexander a choice on anything. It was always do this, go here, say the right thing, stop talking so much… 

He shook his head. “I- I…” silently, he nods. His voice soft, hardly discernible, he says, “yes. I think so.” 

George reached out, placing an arm around his shoulder, surprised when Alexander leant into him. His face buried in George’s sweater. He wrapped Alex in a tight hug, holding the kid closely to him. He grunted as Alex moved to lay down, reluctant to let go of George, he tugged them both down.

Alex sniffed, face still buried in George’s chest. “Thank you,” he said, voice muffled by the fabric. 

George smiled. “That’s what I’m here for.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeay! George and Alex being father and son! It's everything everyone's ever wanted. I hope you liked it! Feel free to comment, I love hearing from you guys! You can also find me on Tumblr, of course, at Ashtree1165.
> 
> let me know what u guys think!


	9. I Can Finally Begin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I just wanna say, while writing this, I imagine everyone as they are in ‘Hamilton.’ EXCEPT Jefferson, for some reason my brain keeps picturing ‘1776’ Jefferson, but none of my descriptions should interfere with you imaging ‘Hamilton’ Jefferson if that’s what you wish too. Also my Lafayette in my head switches between ‘Hamilton’ Laf and ‘Turn’ Lafayette and just irl Lafayette at random. But once again, I mostly shy away from physical descriptions that should interfere with however you want to mentally see these characters. And if any descriptions do happen to arise that interfere with ur imagination, just ignore them as you wish.
> 
> Also, disclaimer, since ppl lately -- specifically on the hellish site of tumblr -- seem to wanna pitch a fit at anyone writing any form of historical fiction: I don’t condone any of the actions of these people irl. I’m aware a lot of them were shitty people. I’m a history major, trust me, I KNOW.
> 
> ///
> 
> Chapter title from "Deep Blue" by Arcade Fire

**** With the Christmas holiday fast approaching, only a few days away now, Laf had decided it would be a good idea for the four of them to go to the mall. To “cheer you up!” Lafayette had claimed. And as Alexander was quick to learn, Gilbert was quite the enthusiastic Christmas shopper. 

“It’s a competition,  _ mon lapin,”  _ he told Alexander. “Whatever anyone gives me, I must get them something even better.”

Alex had wrinkled his nose, “why?” 

Lafayette scoffed. “Because I love my friends,” he explained. “So I must prove how well I love and know and cherish them by purchasing them the perfect gift!” 

Alex didn’t really understand how a gift could prove someone’s appreciation for friends and family. Christmas for Alex had never been about  _ things,  _ but actions. Christmas with his mother and James had been without gift exchanges. It was just a day they spent together, his mother took off work and they went to church early in the morning and spent the rest of the day at home. She cooked for them, which she rarely had time to do on a regular basis, a large elaborate meal she had scraped together enough money to afford. But Alex had never come to expect a gift for Christmas. 

The mall was expectedly crowded when they arrived. Christmas and holiday shoppers everywhere. The mall was decorated in fairy lights and garland, a massive Christmas Tree in the center of the mall, stars of David decorating shop windows. A mall Santa was even set up near the giant tree. A line of children with their parents and grandparents awaiting a spot on Santa’s lap. A tradition Laf had tried explaining to alex, but even he wasn’t entirely clear on the purpose.

When they arrived they met up with John and Hercules, meeting at a pretzel stand. Alex’s face lit up when he saw John, the other boy was dressed in a bright blue sweater, his hair pulled back. He was adorable, Alexander thought. The blue of the sweater complimenting his eyes and complexion.

Laf nudged him, giving him a  _ look.  _ A knowing smirk in place. 

“What?” Alex frowned.

He shook his head. “Nothing.”

Alex grunted.

“Alex, hey!” John bound over to them, abandoning his spot in line and Herc threw his hands up, mouthing a curse word.

Alex grinned. “Hi.”

“I like your sweater,” John said, poking Alex’s own Christmas sweater. 

“Oh.” Alex felt his cheeks warm. “Thanks. Laf said it looked good, so,” he shrugged.

John smiled and agreed. “Yeah, I’d say it does.”

For some reason the comment caused Alex’s stomach to flutter. He would hate how much John could toy with his emotions but he thought he kinda liked it.

“If you two are finished,” Lafayette chimed, startling Alexander. “Herc wants to know if we want pretzels? You two Laurens, since you so hastily abandoned you spot.”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Alex said. “John?”

“Yeah, sounds good,” he said. “Alex and I can share.”

Laf nodded and disappeared back to Herc.

“You got a Christmas list?” John asked Alex. “Anything specific we need to get while we’re here?”

He shook his head. “I’ve never bought anyone presents before,” he said. “We didn’t really do all that for Christmas… before.”

“No? We don’t really do Christmas either at my house,” John explained. “My parents aren’t really the holiday type, ya know? And Herc celebrates Hannukah, so, Laf’s the freak here. He  _ lives  _ for Christmas. It’s his favorite holiday aside from New Year.”

“I am not a freak about Christmas,” Lafayette argued, materialising between them, Hercules right behind him with his arms full of pretzels. 

“Merry Christmas,” he said, distributing pretzels. 

“Thanks man. You are too,” John argued. “Immediately after Thanksgiving you lose your mind!”

Lafayette scoffed. “I do  _ not.” _

The four of them walked, Alexander following along aimlessly. Most everywhere they stopped was for Lafayette. He needed something from practically every store. Alexander couldn’t imagine who he was buying all of this for. But he was happy to have something to occupy his mind all the same, distract him from the week he was having. 

His conversation with George was still heavy in his mind. He kept thinking back to it over the past several days. Therapy. It wasn’t something Alexander had ever considered. He wasn’t opposed to it, he had just never entertained the possibility. It was never something achievable for Alex. No one had ever proposed it. No one had ever taken enough interest in Alex to realize something could be amiss. But the truth was that there  _ was _ something amiss. Something Alex was progressively finding more and more difficult to deal with, to manage. The bad days and black moods became more frequent and Alexander was growing impatient with them. Perhaps that was why he accepted George’s proposition with so little a fight. 

Alex wasn’t one to down without a fight afterall.

“Hey, you alright?” John asked, bumping Alex on the shoulder. 

“Huh? Yeah, I’m fine.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Little tired.”

John smiled. “Do you ever even sleep?”

Alex opened his mouth to defend his sleeping habits, but was cut off by Hercules.

“Is that Jefferson?” 

Alex’s head whipped around, a scowl already in place. It  _ was!  _ Thomas fucking Jefferson. Of course Alexander couldn’t even so much as go out in public without running into the one man he wanted to slug across the face more than any other. Thomas Jefferson had progressively grown less and less tolerable throughout the course of debate class. Every other day the tag team duo of Thomas Jefferson and John Adams drove Alexander up the wall. The man grated on Alex’s nerves like no one had ever managed to before. His arguments with Jefferson had resulted in no less than three detentions so far. The number was sure in increase next semester.

And  _ of course  _ he was here with Adams too. As well as some other kids Alex didn’t recognise. “Who’s he with?” he asked, wondering if any of them would recognise them. Alex had a habit of not really noticing the other kids in their grade, or school. He didn’t really care. 

“I think it’s James Madison,” Hercules said. 

“He’s a grade below us,” John explained. 

Ah, so far Alex wasn’t aware of a single pal of Jefferson’s that was actually in their grade. Adams was a senior and this Madison guy looked about twelve, if you asked Alex.

“The other one is Richard Lee,” Laf said. “He’s nice, I like him.”

“How does Jefferson manage to have  _ nice  _ friends?” Alex asked, spitting Jefferson’s name like it were a curse.

“You know, Thomas is not that bad if you actually talked to him,” Laf said. 

Alex nearly choked on his pretzel. “How  _ dare  _ you!?” He asked, scandalized. “You  _ traitor!” _

Lafayette rolled his eyes. “I mean it,” he insisted. “He’s very smart.”

“False.”

_ “Alex.” _

He shook his head emphatically. “Thomas Jefferson is the biggest idiot I have ever met.”

“You just disagree with his opinions,” Laf said, scowling.

Before Alex could argue further, the other kid, Richard Lee, had spotted them, waving an arm wildly through the air. 

“Oh,  _ no _ , now they see us,” Alex whined. 

John snorted. “Don’t worry I’ll vouch for you. If anyone asks, Jefferson threw the first punch,” he whispered.

Alex felt a swell of affection towards John. It was nice to know he had his back. It was an odd feeling though, the realization that someone knew him well enough already to understand the chances of this ending with Alex in the middle of fistfight were incredibly high. And that he accepted that so willingly. Huh. Interesting.

“Marquis de Lafayette,” Richard greeted, faux bowing to Laf. 

Alex wrinkled his nose. Laf, however -- the traitor! -- found it greatly amusing. “Bonjour Richard! Bonjour Thomas! It is good to see you.” 

Jefferson smiled --  _ smiled! _ \-- at Lafayette. “Gilbert.”

Oh fantastic! They were on a first name basis!? Alex threw up his arms. Disgusting. He could vomit right now, all over Thomas’s stupid loafer shoes. The guy dressed like a fucking professor. At least John Adams seemed to not like Laf, if his wrinkled nose and overall look of annoyance was anything to go by. That was something at least. Madison didn’t seem too impressed either but the guy seemed the type to not be too impressed with anything. At least there was someone around shorter than Alex now. Kid looked hardly five feet. 

Jefferson’s eyes skimmed the rest of them, when they landed on Alex they narrowed. Alexander threw him a dirty look in return. The nerve of that guy, prancing over to them like he was their friend! What a prick.

“We are out Christmas shopping,” Laf said. 

_ “Holiday _ shopping,” Hercules clarified. 

“Oh,  _ oui.  _ Holiday shopping,” he nodded emphatically. 

“We were just out doing the same,” Thomas said, hands sliding in his trouser pockets. “Richard thought it would be a good idea.”

Richard Lee, a tall, somewhat gangly and tanned kid with light hair and the largest grin Alex had ever seen, dressed in an obnoxiously bright ‘Virginia’ sweater, nodded proudly. “Johnny here had the idea,” he said. Patting Adams on the shoulder and nearly knocking the shorter kid over. 

“I merely suggested it,” he grumbled. Arms folded across his chest. “Now seemed as good a time as ever.”

Alex snorted. “That’s unfortunate. A shame we had to run into you. We were having such a wonderful afternoon.”

“Your presence isn’t exactly a treat for us either, Hamilton,” Jefferson snarked.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Does not being the smartest guy in the room make you uncomfortable?” Alex placed a hand over his heart. “I mean, I knew you had a superiority complex, but really Thomas.”

Thomas’s dark eyes narrowed, but it was John Adams that fired back at him. “You think you’re so damn clever-”

“I’m only stating the obvious.”

“Alex,” Herc placed a hand on his shoulder. However he sounded more amused than anything.

“Don’t bother, John. He’s only jealous.” Madison suddenly said, speaking up for the first time. His voice meek and soft but firm.

Alex could laugh, in fact, he did. And how had Thomas Jefferson of all people acquired a group of lackey’s to run to defend his honor? “Of what exactly?”

“Oh, you hadn’t heard?” Madison asked, his voice overtly sweet. “Thomas got elected to the debate team next semester.”

Alexander’s face grew hot. No, he hadn’t heard. He had been a little preoccupied lately, thank you. “You’re kidding. You!?” Alex practically growled. “all you do in class is criticize!”

“Criticize  _ you  _ perhaps,” Thomas said. “And only because someone ought to. But maybe if you had bothered to actually listen to my advice.”

John’s fingers brushed Alexander’s hand, tentatively taking his hand in his own. “C’mon,” he softly urged. “If you punch this moron here, Laf’s gonna be pissed at you.”

Alex’s flexed his jaw, the muscles in his cheeks jumping from the tension. 

“Go on Hamilton,” Jefferson said tauntingly. “Run home to daddy.”

“Thomas!” To everyone’s surprise it was Laf who snapped. “That’s enough. You two may not get along in  _ debate class  _ but please- be  _ civil!  _ I’m sure that you two could find some common ground if you at least  _ attempted  _ to get along!”

“Hardly,” Thomas scoffed, crossing his arms.

Alex jabbed a finger in Thomas’ direction. “See! Even he agrees!”

“There you go then,” Hercules chimed. “Common ground.”

“Herc’s right. Task over. Let’s go!” Alex said. 

“I agree, we’re wasting our time,” Adams said briskly. 

“Now hold on,” Thomas started.

“Ugh!” John groaned. “Alex let’s just  _ go.” _

“You can stay here with Richard, John and I will find you later,” Madison said.

“I’ll come with you!” Richard boisterously decided. 

“Now wait one minute!” Thomas sputtered. 

“Herc, you coming?” John asks over his shoulder, he and Alex walking off together. 

“Yeah, why not.”

_ “Mes amies!” _

In the end, it’s just Lafayette and Thomas left standing together in a crowded mall walkway. Shoppers briskly passing them without a glance. 

“Well, that’s about typical,” Thomas says. Not at all surprised by his horrible friends. Though he supposes he can’t blame John, he hates Hamilton more than he does. 

_ “Oui.  _ _ Je ne suis pas du tout surpris.” _

_ “Moi non plus,”  _ Thomas agrees. 

 

///

 

Arriving back at the Washington’s Alex and Laf invited Hercules and John inside. With Christmas fast approaching the neighbourhood was alit with so many fairy lights and wreaths. It was beautiful and breathtaking, with fresh snow blanketing the yards and rooftops. The Washington’s was exceptionally festive, the porch was aglow with decor, and the kitchen looked like Saint Nick himself had vandalized it. A hazy warmth encompassed the entire home. “I cannot believe you did that to me!” Laf declared as they slipped in through the back door. “It was very rude!” 

Alex rolled his eyes, wiping his boots off on the welcome mat. He shot John a look and saw that he was trying not to laugh. It made Alex feel lighter after the debacle at the mall. “You didn’t seriously expect me to stand there and tolerate that guy? You know I can’t stand him.”

Hercules chuckled, tossing his coat over a chair and disappearing to the living room where he threw himself down on the couch. “He’s not the best company, I’ll give you that, Ham!” he hollered from the other room.

“See! Even Herc doesn’t care for him, and he likes everyone,” Alexander said, gesturing madly at the living room doorway. 

“This is true,” Laf deadpanned. “Herc likes everyone at school except for Seabury.”

John giggled.

_ “Même moi, je n’aime pas Seabury,”  _ Lafayette muttered and Alex snorted. 

“Jefferson and I are never going to get along, so just, let it be. Okay, Gilbert?”

The frenchman huffed but let it go. He hated when Alex used his first name, Alex knew it softened him up. “You are all impossible. I do not like it when you make me behave as the adult!”

Alexander laughed, dragging John with him by the hand to join Hercules in the living room. He was half shrugged out of his coat, his cheeks still flushed from the cold. “Whatever you say mom!”

“I raised you better than this!” Laf exclaimed, chasing after them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed. Next chapter is Christmas! Yay!!! It's nearly March but whatever!


	10. I'm A Man On Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo boy! I am late! Almost a month since I updates, ALMOST. I've been so busy. Handful of essays and a short story to write. It's been a busy semester. SO hopefully, HOPEFULLY, this appeases you. 
> 
> BTW, i'm thinking of doing a Jefferson POV, would anyone like that at all?
> 
> ///
> 
> Chapter title from "Man on Fire" by Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros

Christmas was Alexander's favorite holiday. While it was never an overly exciting or active holiday when he celebrated with his mother and James, it was still special. The morning spent at church was one of the few times they ever went to service and he valued those time. His holiday with the Washington’s began similarly.

They rose early, washing and dressing for a ten o’clock church service. They went to the church house fifteen minutes down the road and across the creek. It was snowing, the air crisp and unforgiving. Alexander, while he enjoyed the view of the snow capped trees, was far from acclimated to the weather. Martha had insured he was thoroughly layered up before they left, Gilbert too. So with his Sunday best, a sweater, a coat, hat, and gloves, they loaded into the car. 

The church was a small one, larger than Alex was used to from the islands, but still small. Somewhat cosy even. Set along the Potomac, the water ice coated and beautiful in the morning light. As they were taking their seat towards the front Alex spotted a familiarly curly head. He nudged Gilbert and the other boy turned to see what he was looking at. 

“What’s John doing here?” Alex asked in a hushed whisper. 

Laf’s face brightened as he too spotted their friend. “The Laurens’ live close by,” he explained. “About, erm, five minutes from home.”

This whole time John had lived up the road and Alex hadn’t even known? He would be upset if he weren’t so happy to see John there. He was with what looked like his mom and dad, and what Alex could only assume was his sister. John spotted them both as they walked by and shot them a small smile, causing one to light up Alexander’s own face. 

The service went by quick, for Alex anyway. Laf was moaning and groaning about how dull it was by the time they were leaving. Tugging on Alex’s coat sleeve, urging them towards the door. “It wasn’t that bad, Gilbert,” Martha plicated fondly. 

“It was _torture_ mama,” Laf said softly. 

George chuckled and ruffled Laf’s hair. “Thanks for at least holding in your complaints until  _ after  _ service,” he said. Laf snorted.

Alex wasn’t paying them much attention, busy scanning the crowd looking for John.  _ There! _ Alex waved excitedly, rising up on his toes. 

With a frown George asked, “who’s he see?”

“It is just John Laurens,” Laf explained. “They are very friendly,” he added with a wink. George’s frown grew confused, a little wrinkle between his brows. There were things he didn’t need to know about his children and unfortunately for him Lafayette’s filter was pretty thin. 

“John Laurens,” Martha started. “That’s Henry’s son, yeah?”

George nodded. 

John said something Alex couldn’t hear to his father before weaving through the crowd, stopping abruptly before Alex with a grin plastered on his fact. “Hi! Merry Christmas!”

Alex smiled, “Merry Christmas. I didn’t know you went to church.”

“It was my parents idea. Mom and Dad are really religious.” He shrugged. “I don’t really care. You?”

“I think this is a discussion for another time.”

John’s expression grew fond, “yeah. Good idea. You could probably go on for days.”

“He could,” Laf inputted, coming up behind Alex. “When I asked him why he wanted to come so bad he lectured me for an hour on religion and philosophy.” 

Alex nodded. When George and Martha asked them if they wanted to come, Laf immediately declined. Whereas Alex was adamantly for it. 

“John, it’s good to see you.” George greeted, he and Martha having chased after the two of them. 

“Mr and Mrs Washington. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” Martha replied. “Are your parents here?”

“Uh, they’re over there,” he said pointing behind him. He shifted on his feet, straightening out his dress shirt. “I should probably get back to them, they’re probably waiting on me.” He wished them all a happy holiday one last time for disappearing. “I’ll see you guys later!” he said to Alex and Laf. 

“Yeah, see ya,” Alex said with a half hearted wave. Disappointed. 

The rest of Alex’s day was uneventful. They stayed home, Laf introduced Alex to an array of Christmas classics -- both in film and in music. The television ran on a loop of Christmas movies, and the cheery carols played through the houses stereo system. It was slightly overwhelming but Alex adored it. It was the type of Christmas celebration you only ever read about. It was perfect. Although, in the back of his mind remained the image of John from that morning. He was beautiful, dressed primly in his Sunday best. But he had seemed skittish, far more reserved around his parents. Given, not everyone could be a talker like Alexander. But it wasn’t like John to be so quiet. 

Christmas morning with the Washington's was nothing like it was with his mother and James. Not in a bad way at all. Wonderful and amazing as it was, it was much more relaxed than Christmas Eve. They slept late, opened presents once everyone rose. They ate brunch together and then had an elaborate dinner together, compliments of Chef George. It was wonderful, and Alexander felt a swell of gratitude towards this family so strong it stole his breath. 

 

///

 

Three days after Christmas Alex was due to begin therapy. He couldn't say he was looking forward to it by any means, but he didn't have much in the way of options. George had suggested he start after New Years, but Alex thought the sooner the better. He was tired of waiting. 

The thing was though, wanting something out of the way didn't get rid of the anxiety. He felt the nerves bubbling in the bit of his stomach for the past several days. He was ready for school to start backup, craving the normalcy the routine gave him. Even if he didn’t look forward to each class, it was a constant he could rely upon. 

The therapist’s office was in town, in an old brick building with a flag out front. It looked nice enough, but Alex found facades could often be deceiving. He learnt not to take everything at face value. 

George drove him. “I can wait out here if you’d like,” he said, standing in the waiting room.   
Alexander shook his head. “No, you can you. It’s an hour long appointment, and I can call you if I get out early,” he said.

George licked his lips. “Okay, I’ll stay in town. Call me if you need me. I’ll be back in one hour.”

“Okay.”

The office was surprisingly spacious. Everything looked antique American, colonial. An old union flag on one wall. A gas lamp on a table. It was nice. A tall woman with dark hair offered him a manicured hand, “Dr. Schrute. You must be Alexander.”

He shook her hand, “Alex, is fine.”

She smiled. “Alex it is then. Why don’t you go ahead and have a seat over there,” she said, gesturing to an armchair. "Would you like anything to drink before be start? Water?"

Alex shook his head. "No thanks."

She sat just across from him, in her own identical armchair. Long legs crossed in her suit pants, she sat with a closed notepad in her lap. “I thought we’d start off our first session getting to know each other. How’s that sound?”

Alex nodded, “fine. Good.” 

“Why don’t you tell about the Washington’s to start?” she asked. “You’ve just moved in with them, is that right?”

“A few months ago, yeah.”

“Tell me about that.”

Alex fidgeted. “They’re nice. I mean, I really like them. I think they like me.”

“Have you felt that your past foster families have disliked you, Alex?” 

He shook his head. “Not  _ dis _ liked, just impassive maybe. George and Martha are more… engaged. Like parents.”

“And how do you feel about that?”

“I don’t know,” he said honestly. He didn’t need anyone replacing his mother, but… but it was nice to have someone who hadn’t forgotten that he was still technically a kid. “I don’t need new parents. But, it’s a bit of a relief not having to do everything for myself.” Even if sometimes he forgot he didn’t have to do it all alone. That he could lean on people, on John and Laf and Herc. 

“Your adolescence has been conducted in high stress inducing environments,” Dr. Schrute said. “It must be very nice to have this stability.”

He nodded. “They don’t ask a lot of me. I’m not- not used to that.” Even with mom, he and James had to pull a lot of weight. He had had responsibility thrown on his very early on. “On the island,” he said, feeling a bit more relaxed. His hands had stopped trembling at least. His eyes kept straying to the snow outside. “I had a lot of responsibilities. I had a job at thirteen. And after mom and James died, I moved in with my cousin, and I had a job there too. A hard job. And then- and then I was on my own and I had to do everything for myself. So, so now, with the Washington’s, it’s weird.”

“Weird how?”

“Weird how I have to pretend to be a kid again.”

Dr. Schrute frowned marginally. “Pretend?”

He opened his mouth soundlessly. "I mean, I..." He shook his head. “Well I’m not a kid, am I?” he asked. “I’ve had to be an adult since I was fourteen. How do you backtrack from that?” He took a deep breath. He kept feeling like he was saying too much, but that was stupid, wasn’t it? He was there to talk, she was being payed to listen to him. He kept his eyes fixed on his hands. “It makes school weird. I already know half the material, I’ve taught it to myself. It’s amazing what you can do with a public library. It’s just- I feel older than half of my classmates most of the time. Probably why I get in so many arguments with the teachers.”

“You feel uncomfortable being taught by someone else?”

“I don’t like being talked down to,” he said a bit sharply. “I have more life experience than half of my professors, yet they want to treat my like I’m their inferior just because I’m legally mandated to attend school.”

“You’re thinking of dropping out?” she asked, scribbling something down on her penpad. 

Alex shook his head. “No, I need a high school diploma to get into Columbia.”

Dr. Schrute chuckled. “It’s good to have goals.”

For the first time since pulling into the parking lot, Alex smiled. “Laf says I shouldn’t be so choosy.”

“Laf?” she asked, scribbling further in her notes. 

“George and Martha’s son, Gilbert.”

“Why do you call him Laf?” 

He shrugged. “It’s his last name, by birth.” He shrugged. “I think it’s his last name. He has a lot of names. The french can be very confusing.”

She smiled. “Are you very close with Gilbert?”

Alex nodded. “He’s very likable.”

“So you get along?”

“Most days. We fight, like siblings do.”

“Would you call him a brother?”

Alexander swallowed, his throat tight. He had had a brother, he knew what that was like, and it was hard to say Gilbert didn’t fit the mould. “I would say so, yeah. He…” Alex wiped his nose with his sleeve. “He’s my best friend.”  
“Would you like a tissue?”

“I’m okay. I just- Gilbert’s the best thing I could have asked for, I love him to death. And he never pushes, he’s just  _ there.  _ He and George and Martha, they care about me, but they never try to step on my mom or James’ toes. They’re just  _ there.”  _ He had never told Gilbert that he loved him. He should probably do that sometime. He'd like that. 

“You’re very lucky to have them,” Dr. Schrute said. “They seem like very wonderful people.”

Alexander nodded, a watery smile on his face. “People keep saying that, and they’re always right.”

 

///

 

Therapy was much less daunting after the first session. All the same, Alex was relieved to have the one hour mark roll around, grateful to see George waiting right where he’d said he’d be, patiently sitting in the front room. He smiled at Alex, and Alex found himself smiling right back. 

“You ready to head home, son?”

Alexander nodded, chewing on his bottom lip. His eyes drifted to the fresh snow outside. “Yeah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> once more, so sorry this is so late. Please let me know ur thoughts, ur all the best!


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